Remembrance
by raveners
Summary: After Clary's actions in CoLS while trying to save Jace, Jocelyn has decided Clary is too much of a danger to herself - they are going to live normal, mundane lives, hide themselves in the mundane world, where Nephilim, Downworlders and Demons can't find them. Short story set between CoLS and CoHF. M for later chapters.
1. PROLOGUE

**There's one thing I want to make known - this isn't some sort of "this is what I think is going to happen in CoHF" fic, it's more of an AU, and I won't be attempting to address any of the main problems that are going to be resolved in CoHF. This fic is just a crazy little idea that stuck in my head. Thanks for reading. Also, things that obviously aren't mine aren't mine. **

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Jace stared at his phone laying on the bed beside him. He'd only been awake for four days, but scenery of the infirmary was already starting to bore him - there were only so many books he could read. What he really wanted was Clary - he hadn't heard from her since that first night she'd come to visit him. Everything had seemed fine when she'd left him - she'd promised she'd be back the next day, no matter what the Silent Brothers had to say about visitors. He'd chuckled about that.

Of course, the Institute had been a flurry of activity since then - people had been coming in and out of building at all hours, passing by the infirmary on the way to the library. Nobody had told Jace anything, of course, until Alec had come to sleep in the bed beside Jace and told him about Sebastian's present in the library. Jace wanted to talk to Clary about it - they were the two people in the world who were still alive that knew Sebastian best. He didn't like Clary on her own outside, either, although if Sebastian could get into the institute, he could get to her anywhere. Anger swelled inside Jace as he thought this - he needed to focus so he didn't burn the bedsheets beside him. It was the one useful thing he could do with all of this spare time, practicing control of the heavenly fire that burned inside of him. The Silent Brothers had told him they had found a way to release it, but were being cryptic, as usual, about the "how" part.

It unsettled him, not knowing why Clary hadn't visited or called. He'd had company from Isabelle for part of the day, and she hadn't heard from Clary either - nor had Simon, when Jace had asked her to ask him. Isabelle had brushed it off, suggesting she was probably with her mom doing wedding stuff. That night, he'd even asked Alec if he'd heard anything, but of course he hadn't.

Just as he was picking up his phone to call Clary, he heard rasied voices outside. Jace sat up, straining to hear the conversation.

"...And you're sure about this?" he heard Isabelle say.

"Not since yesterday?" Isabelle said again, obviously on the phone with somebody.

"Okay, I'll come down and get the necklace from you to show him," she said before snapping the phone shut. Jace heard her heels click down the hall, along with another, quieter set which he assumed belonged to Alec. Izzy had not sounded happy about whatever it was.

Five minutes later, Isabelle walked into the room, followed by Alec. They both looked at Jace as if there was a bomb strapped to his chest.

"What is it?" Jace asked, a feeling of dread working its way through him, much like the fire he felt running through him.

"Jace, before we tell you, please keep in mind that you're still weak, and there's really nothing you can do now. There are people dealing with the situation and Alec and I are doing our part as well-"

"Cut the crap Izzy - what is it?" he repeated, seeing something silver shine in Izzy's closed palm. Alec moved to Jace's side, placing a hand on his shoulder as Izzy poured the chain and his Morgenstern ring into his hand.

"Where is Clary?" Jace said, his voice like ice.

"Her and Jocelyn have been missing - Luke woke up the morning after she visited you and they were gone," Alec said, his hand stead on Jace's shoulder.

"Was it him?" Jace asked.

"We don't know. They've disappeared, tracking spells aren't working. There wasn't blood or anything in the house. Luke didn't hear anything," Isabelle said, knowing he was asking about Sebastian.

"I'm going to kill him," Jace said, eyes burning like liquid fire.

"Jace, there is one other possibility, you know," Alec prompted gently.

"No, not after what happened when she came to visit me. She wouldn't just leave that necklace," Jace said, dismissing the idea immediately. Yet, it was like a knife had plunged through his heart.

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**Thanks for reading, if you could take the five seconds to review, that would be lovely.**


	2. Chapter 1

Four twenty one pm, and Clary was standing at the front of Saint Mary's School For Young Ladies, tucked into one of the archways by the doors of the old school building, peering through the rain, awaiting her mother. All of the other girls had gone home long ago, walking to the bus stop or climbing into their parents' SUVs, some of the seniors even driving home in their shiny sports cars. Just standing in the rain for five minutes earlier had soaked through her jacket - she was shaking from the cold, as her school uniform wasn't exactly meant for the late February weather. She ground her teeth in frustration as city bussed rushed past, ones she knew would take her home, if her mother would ever let her. But of course her mother would rather let her stand out here and freeze to death, rather than have her take one bus that picked her up a block from school and dropped her off two blocks from their townhouse, a bus that would have had her home by four at the latest.

And her mother wasn't picking up her cellphone, which caused a tornado of worry to whirl around Clary's head, despite the fact that she was well on her way to contracting, puemonia, especially with her skin and bones physique. Her mother told her that she looked well, considering she spent most of the fall in a coma, after a tragic car accident which had caused her and her mother to flee New York City, retreating to the perpetually rainy city of Vancouver, on the other side of the continent, in a completely different country.

Her mother and Luke, her mother's best friend, had been on their way to the family farmhouse upstate. Clary couldn't actually remember any of the drive. Her last memory before the coma was of her arguing with her mother, about how she was going to miss her last few art classes at Tisch. It all seemed so trivial now, compared to Clary and Jocelyn's life now. A car headed in the opposite direction has swerved to avoid a family of ducks crossing the road, sending them careening into Luke's old truck, killing him instantly and sending Clary into a coma. Jocelyn was spared of any serious injury.

Clary had awoken in a hospital in Vancouver - after the third month of her coma, doctors had transferred her to Vancouver to undergo a new type of treatment. It worked. Clary remembered all too well, waking up in the hospital and seeing her mother's tear-stained face, the crushing news of Luke's death.

Things would have been better if Clary had had Simon to help her through it all - but she didn't like thinking about Simon, as it always came like a punch in the gut, causing tears to spring into Clary's eyes. Clary hated crying now, vowed never to cry again, in this miserable place where the rain could do all the crying for you.

Clary tried to forget what had happened in New York, her whole life. Clinging onto happy memories just made her sad, provided no respite from the dreariness of this new life of hers.

A sudden screech of tries on wet pavement startled Clary - her mother had just pulled up in front of the school, her driving, as usual, horrible and just on the edge of death-defying.

Clary walked quickly through the deluge, not even sparing her mother a glance as she slammed the door behind her. The windshield wiper blades in front of her weren't going quite fast enough to clear the glass of water, but Clary stared out at the blurred world ahead of her adamant in ignoring her mother.

As they turned onto the main street, Jocelyn had to slam on the brakes as another car ran the light.

"You know, it might as well be safer for me if I took the bus home," Clary muttered under her breath.

"Clary, I'm sorry but I got caught up and work, you know how Mr. Nordman is," she sighed, obviously too tired for this sort of confrontation. She had been forced to sell even more of her father's stocks to pay for Clary's stay in the hospital and the move across the continent and to another country, not to mention the costly school tuition. The art community in Vancouver was nothing compared to New York City, and Jocelyn could no longer support herself and Clary just by selling her paintings. She had gotten a job as a secretary at a corporate office downtown and Clary knew she didn't enjoy one moment of it, but it was one of the few jobs that the hours allowed for Jocelyn to drive Clary to and from school.

"Mom, I don't understand why I can't just go to that school that's a block away- it's not like we live on the bad side of town or anything," Clary said.

"I thought the atmosphere might be good for you, Clary, I've said that a million times," Jocelyn replied, her hands tightening on the steering wheel.

"I've also told you a million times to call me Clarissa, not Clary," she said. After the accident Clary had decided that name was childish - she was sixteen and it was time to get rid of the nickname - what sort of name was Clary for a teenage girl, she thought. It had been her mother's suggestion, actually, that she start going by her proper name - a 'fresh' start, that was how her mother had phrased it a million times.

"I'm sorry," Jocelyn said. Silence reigned over the car once more, as it usually did.

A part of Clary knew that she shouldn't be so cruel to her mom, that she was trying to look out for Clary - it wasn't entirely her mother's fault that Clary snapped at her, either. Today, like every other day, Clary was plagued by a headache that slowly worsened as the day went on, a steady throb at the back of her head. The doctors said it would lessen with time, as long as Clary kept taking her pills everyday. Clary did as they said, her mother keeping a stringent eye on her when she took the pills at breakfast and before bed. But she swore the headaches were getting worse, not better, as time passed.

As soon as Jocelyn had parked the car in the garage Clary got out, rushing up the stairs to their townhouse. It was more spacious than their apartment had been in New York, but Clary hated it. Even her mother's art on the walls failed to brighten the place up for her.

Kicking off her soaked shoes in the entryway, Clary headed upstairs, slammed her door behind her.

Her room was as plain as could be - Jocelyn had offered to paint it for her, but Clary had refused. She felt as if the blank white walls suited her now, somehow. She had a white bed, a white desk, a white wardrobe, a white door leading out to the courtyard. There was nothing but the bare essentials scattered around - pencils on the desk, some clothes thrown haphazardly on the floor.

Clary didn't bother to turn on the lights or even change out of her school clothes, collasping on to the unmade the bed and throwing a pillow over her face to block the little remaining daylight that filtered in through the glass door. It did nothing to ease her headache, however.

It seemed like it was hours later when Clary heard Jocelyn calling for her downstairs. She immediately felt her mood darken when she noticed the pounding in her head was even worse than before.

On the kitchen counter were two meals of spaghetti, Caesar salad and garlic bread - Chinese take out and pizza constituting meals seemed to be a thing of the past. When they had first moved here, more often than not Jocelyn would cook with catastrophic results. Back then, Clary would just go to bed without dinner instead of waiting around for the delivery guy - she wasn't hungry most of the time, anyways. Even now, the garlic bread was from a frozen package and the sauce was from a jar, but at least it was edible.

Clary sat at the table, taking the pills that were supposed to help with her "lingering symptoms" laid out by her place as soon as she sat down, Jocelyn's eyes fixed on her as she washed them down with water.

"Clarissa, I've been thinking about your birthday," said Jocelyn as Clary reluctantly speared a few leaves of her salad, breaking the silence that had resided over the table for most of the meal.

"I don't want to talk about it, besides, there's no one to invite," Clary said, her mood darkening again. Her mother had had the ridiculous notion that Clary needed to have a make up birthday party, considering she had been in a coma on her real birthday. And there was no one to invite - Clary was more alone than she had ever been.

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Hi, thanks for sticking with me so far. This is going to be a short fic, set between CoLS and CoHF, spurred on by this little idea that I couldn't get out of my head. I promise future chapters will be longer - if you stick with me, things will get less confusing. Thanks for reading this! x


	3. Chapter 2

**8/03/12 - SO SORRY that this isn't a new chapter, but I have just inserted a prologue, so go and read that if you haven't already. Thanks for reading. x**

**Also: things that obviously aren't mine are not mine. **

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The last thing Clary wanted to do the next morning was get out of bed when her alarm rang five minutes before her mother was to enter her room to wake her up. As always, she awoke with a pounding headache and a thick fogginess in her mind that would always linger for minutes after she had awakened.

Clary rolled over and groaned into a pillow, waiting for the dizziness to go away as well. It was a new symptom, but it only lasted for about as long as the fogginess in her mind. Clary didn't want to worry her mother and had taken the measures to ensure her mother didn't find out about it.

Just as Clary felt it was safe to open her eyes and not puke, Jocelyn breezed into the room, opening the curtains covering the glass door and flicking on the lights. She was wearing slacks and heels but still donned and old t-shirt that she wore to bed and only had eyeliner on one eye, but still managed to have this effortless sense of beauty about her that Clary was sure she would never have.

"Raining, again," Jocelyn commented, "we're leaving in half and hour - Mr. Norman wants me to come in again early. I'm sure you'll find something productive to do before class starts."

She stayed long enough to see Clary swing her legs over the side of the bed and sit upright before running back into the bathroom.

Clary shuffled downstairs, bleary-eyed, and took the pills laid out for her before pouring herself a bowl of sugary cereal and peeling a banana.

Thirty five minutes later, Clary was sitting in front of her locker, books open in front of her as she tried to concentrate on the homework she'd never bothered to finish the night before that was due the next block for French. But Clary's headache was back, worse than the night before - her symptoms were always worse in the morning. The words blurred on the page in front of her. Even though she was still wearing her coat, she shivered in the drafty halls of the old school.

No other girls who roamed the halls, early for class, gave her a second glance as they passed by. At first, girls had been interested in the new girl from New York City, but they soon were put off by Clary's quiet demeanor, the dark circles under her eyes and that she often missed school. Clary didn't exactly want the solitude, but she didn't mind it, either. At the beginning it was tiring to force smiles all the time, hard to concentrate on all of the questions being thrown at her. She kept her answers short and to a few words, sometimes pursing her lips and looking away if she didn't want to answer a question at all, questions such as "Why did you move here?".

Girls in her grade, especially the ones who carried around designer bags, gave her contemptuous looks most of the time, although Clary was often in too much of a haze to notice.

When Clary walked into her empty French classroom, she nodded a hello to her teacher, Ms. Fleuve, then sat in one of the desks in the very back of her classroom, put her head down and tried to ignore the pounding in her head.

"Numero deux, Clarissa?" was the next thing Clary heard, Ms. Fleuve standing at the front of the class, workbook open to the homework that Clary hadn't done, giving Clary a cross look. Panicked, Clary looked down at the closed workbook on the desk, as if it could somehow give her the answers.

"Apres avoir," whispered a voice from beside Clary, barely audible to her ears.

Clary blurted out what she'd heard, before she stopped to think that it might have been some cruel trick by the other girl - it was the sort of thing that happened regularly at St. Mary's.

But Ms. Fleuve simply gave a curt nod and a look of high suspicion at Clary before moving onto the next question.

Clary, more awake now, turned around to see who had helped her out, but it was impossible to tell which of the girls sitting around her had uttered the answer. Surrounding her were some popular senior girls (Once it became clear that eleventh grade French was a walk in the park for Clary, they had transferred her into another class), the ones Clary saw traveling the hallways in a pack, always seeming to be laughing a little too loudly. They all seemed to be blonde, tall, and way too tan to be living in such a cloudy place.

As a general rule, Clary tried her best to be invisible around these sorts of girls.

Clary opened her notebook and scribbled down the answers as they were called out, keeping her head down as Ms. Fleuve moved on with the class, explaining some other verb tense that Clary would have to try to teach herself later on in the day when her head wasn't so muddled.

The teacher assigned some in class work to be done on the new tense, then sat down at her desk. A low hum of conversation immediately started in the classroom.

"Thanks," Clary said, turning her head towards the two girls sitting closest to her in the next row, the word barely audible.

"No problem," said the girl sitting beside Clary - she was pretty sure her name was Bristol, "I mean, Tuesday mornings aren't much better than Monday mornings and that assignment was a total bore."

Clary smiled and nodded, hoping that she could return quietly to being unnoticed - but two of Bristol's friends had also turned around, looking curiously at Clary.

"You're new here, right? And your name's Clarissa Frey?" Bristol continued, putting a hand through her blonde hair that was cropped short with a purple streak so vibrant it made Clary wonder whether it was acceptable under St. Mary's Aceptable Ways of Presenting Yourself Guidelines (St. Mary's seemed to have a tendency to be rather long winded about things). Her features were the same as her hair, sharp and angular.

"Yeah, b- I just moved her a couple of months ago, if that's what you mean," Clary said, stopping herself from saying "but you can call me Clary" "I'm a junior, that's why I've only been in the class since winter break."

"Well, let me belatedly welcome you to St. Mary's where they hold on to Victorian ideals even though it may very well kill us someday. I'm Bristol, and this is Eloise and Charlie," she said, gesturing to the two girls that sat in front of her and Clary.

"Ignore Bristol, she's always one to exaggerate - personally, I think it's because she feels obliged to tales as tall as her legs," Eloise chipped in, smiling at Clary. Her looks were the exact opposite of Lacey's - her long, curly blonde hair held back with a bright red scarf that matched her uniform, her full lips colored with the exact same shade.

"Are you just here for the year, or are you planning on graduating here?" Charlie asked, her manner much more diminuitve and unobtrusive than the other two. The one almond-shaped brown eye that wasn't covered by her jet-black bangs looked at Clary curiously.

"I suppose - my mother doesn't like to move around a lot, so we're probably going to be in Vancouver for a while," Clary shrugged.

"Where'd you move here from?" Eloise asked.

"New York City."

"Wow, things must seem so boring here, and so different, too," Bristol exclaimed, work in front of her entirely forgotten.

"I guess - I've never been to a school like this before."

"I commend you for keeping a firm hold on your sanity," said Eloise.

"Things are quite different here - there's lots of requirements that you have to meet for graduation - have you been to see one of the counsellors or vice principals yet? There's this awful planning course you have to do, plus all of your athletic hours," Charlie trailed off, her eyes growing wide with concern.

"Athletic hours?" Clary said, her mind already going through all the possible athletic tortures that she could possibly be forced into.

"Charlie, you're scaring the girl half to death," Eloise reprimanded.

"Clarissa, unlike my friends here I am not subtle in any way, shape or form - here's the deal. The senior soccer team is on the verge of being cut - if we don't get one more person on the team, we're going to get cut," Bristol said, narrowing her eyes at her other two friends, daring them to protest.

"I must warn you, I'm absolutely horrible at anything that requires the slightest bit of athletic finesse," Clary said, desperately scrambling for any way she could talk her way out of this.

"That's what practice is for - modesty aside, the team isn't lacking talent, just numbers," Bristol assured her.

"Using peer pressure and exploiting my newness - normally I'd disapprove, but if you are going to all this trouble just to save you team..." Clary trailed off - maybe it wouldn't be so bad - soccer was supposed to be a simple sport and she figured she could survive practices - as long as her mother let her.

And as much as she hated to admit it, Clary missed having friends - specifically Simon - of course, nobody could ever replace him, but she figured joining the team would at least give her some sort of companionship. This was actually the longest conversation she had had with someone who wasn't her mother or a doctor since she'd awoken from her coma.

"Is that a yes?" Eloise asked, excitement barely contained.

Clary nodded her head, and the explosion of cheers that interrupted caused to Ms. Fleuve to stand up at her desk and shush the girls with a series of French phrases Clary couldn't understand - she had a feeling that some of them weren't appropriate for classroom use.

The whole class was silent for a few moments after the outburst, before a bunch of titters burst out, with many more glances than Clary would have liked aimed in her direction. Clary felt her cheeks grow hot and she quickly returned to her work, although she had absolutely no clue whether the tense they were learning was present or past. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other three girls giving furitive, excited glances at one another.

Shortly afterward the bell rang and Clary got up to gather her things and soon found herself to be surrounded by Bristol, Eloise and Charlie once more.

"Tryouts, although you might as well call it skills evaluation because nobody is going to get cut, are today after school. I know it's super last minute, but we would really appreciate if you showed up, just to let the coaches know you're serious and that we're not making you up..." Bristol trailed off as she glanced at Clary with an expression so eager Clary was surprised she wasn't hopping back and fourth in excitement.

"I would, but I don't have anything with me," Clary trailed off, hesitant. She still had to talk to her mother, although she didn't think Jocelyn would object to the idea - yet, ever since the accident, Clary sometimes felt as if she didn't really know her mother at all, anymore.

"I have some spare cleats - size six, am I right?" Charlie offered.

"I have some volleyball gear that would probably be good enough for tryouts, just for a day," Eloise added.

"And I have some shin guards that I've grown out of still lurking in the bottom of my gear bag, and some extra socks. You've run out of excuses, Frey," Bristol said, smirking.

"You win," Clary said, shaking her head while mentally only half heartedly looking for another excuse in her mind. It was weird, having so many people her age pay attention to her and be nice, even if it was only so they could save their soccer team.

"Awesome, meet us in the change room after school," Charlie said.

The three girls all waved goodbye to Clary, before leaving the classroom in a pack, whispering with one another. Clary assumed they were talking about her - long ago she'd learned not to care about what other people said about her, especially teenage girls.

Clary went to her locker, then pulled out her phone and sent a text to her mom.

Staying after school for help with math, pick me up at 5?

She didn't want to spring the whole soccer thing on her mom over text message, as Jocelyn's replies usually consisted of one of three words : yes, no, or OK. Clary still had to explain to her how to reply to a text sometimes, as her mom never seemed to remember the simple steps.

For the rest of the day, Clary's headache was just the slightest bit more bearable and as the day progressed it became easier to focus past the pounding in her head and concentrate on what was happening in the classroom in front of her or think about soccer tryouts after school. She had this overwhelming urge to tell somebody, that "hey, maybe I've made some new friends today" but asides from her mom, there was no one to tell.

This lack of someone to talk to had never really been a problem for Clary up until then - more than ever she wanted Simon to talk to, to laugh at him laughing at her at even toying with the idea of joining her school's soccer team, let alone actually "trying out". But she couldn't do that - she would never be able to talk to Simon again.

A lot of the time she didn't know which was worse - the loss of Luke or the loss of Simon. Sometimes it was just easier to focus on the ache in her bones or dizzy feeling that perpetuated her everyday life instead of thinking about either of them. Because every time she did think of them, it was like being stabbed in the heart. More than anything, Clary wished things would just go back to the way they were before, or at least a world where they existed, no matter how messed up it was - at least she'd have them back. It was a grim thing to think, that the most important men in her life were gone, both in a matter of months while she was in her coma.

Those thought plagued Clary during English that afternoon - she was glad that they were watching a movie, so no one could see the tears that threatened to spill over. For the rest of the day Clary managed to keep those thoughts at bay. Physically, she started to feel a little better, as usual - normally by the time school ended she sometimes felt halfway normal, if the day hadn't been stressful.

Clary checked her phone before heading to the change rooms - there was one text from her mother - OK. Clary suspected that it wasn't too hard for her mother to have rearranged her schedule - she probably wouldn't have picked up Clary until at least four thirty, even if Clary didn't have anything after school.

Bristol, Eloise and Charlie seemed just as happy to see Clary as they had been that morning - they were ready for her when she arrived, placing the bundle of mismatched gear into Clary's arms as soon as she walked into the room. She received a warm reception for the rest of the team as well - everyone introduced themselves, but Clary had a hard time with keeping track of the eleven girls she hadn't met yet.

Charlie even insisted on doing her hair, coaxing Clary's frizzy red hair into a ponytail, then used some stretchy red foam to make a hairband that would keep the hair out of her face. Clary looked at herself in disbelief in the mirror before heading out. She never bothered to keep her hair out of her face anymore, especially since she never sketched - pulled back like it was made Clary see how different she ooked from before, how dark the circles under her eyes were and how prominent her cheekbones looked.

Even though Eloise was the same height as Clary and would never be classified as anything but skinny, her clothes hung loose on Clary - even though her shorts were spandex, they were still loose in some places. Clary hadn't been this skinny when she woke up from her coma, but somehow she kept getting tinier, spending most of her free time in bed and skipping meals frequently. She wondered how much this would effect her on the soccer field.

Clary had never felt so close to puking because of exercise in her life. She had managed to survive the warm up run, plus all of the drills, but now that they were playing small games against each other - seven on seven - Clary was beginning to feel faint. It had also started to rain about ten minutes into the practice - Clary had been soaked to the skin for the past half hour. None of the other girls had complained, so neither had she - she just assumed that in Vancouver one became used to playing soccer in the rain.

She hadn't been able to feel her fingers or toes for the past half hour, but there was this strange warmth in her gut that prevented her from shutting down completely, running inside and demanding a warm cup of tea.

Clary wasn't as bad as she thought she was going to be - she still had a lot to learn, it seemed, about things like being off side, but she could kick and dribble with passable skill - she was still probably the worst on the team, but not by a wide margin. Even the coaches didn't seem to yell at her as much as they probably should have been - same with all of the other girls on the team. Clary knew it was mostly so she would stick around and save the team. There was always someone by her, giving her a pointer on ball control or even things as simple as how to breathe.

It was four fourty five when practice finally ended, and Clary was genuinely concerned that she would collapse when she headed inside with the other girls. She was soaked to the skin, covered in mud, exhausted, and felt more tired than she had been in months - but it was a different sort of tired, her muscles aching instead of her head, although she still felt a lingering sense of the tiredness she always felt.

Back in the change room, Clary offered to return all the item's she'd borrowed the next day, when she'd taken the layer of mud off of everything. She was slightly horrified of exactly how dirty she'd gotten - there was even mud all of the front of her t-shirt from the couple of time the soccer ball had hit her in the stomach, winding her. Charlie, Eloise and Bristol accepted her offer, as they really didn't have anywhere to put the dirty gear regardless. Also, Clary thought it probably wasn't a good idea to change back into her school uniform when she carried such a thick layer of mud on her.

Clary dragged her feet as she walked out to her mom's idling car. There was no point in trying to hide it - she definitely hadn't been staying after school for math help.

"Hi," she said quietly as she carefully loaded herself into the car, trying not to get any mud on the seats - she'd stuffed her borrowed cleats and shin guards into a plastic bag that she placed between her feet.

Jocelyn didn't even each to start the car - she just stared at Clary.

"Clarissa - what were you doing?" she asked, abashed.

"Soccer tryouts. I made the team," Clary said, showing her mother the forms the coach had given her.

Her mother's lips formed a thin line.

"We'll talk about this at dinner, when you're not muddy and ruining the car," Jocelyn said coldly.

Clary knew it was pointless to argue with her mother when she was this furious.

They didn't talk for the rest of the car ride - Clary headed straight into the bathroom when they got home, turned on the water as hot as she could stand. The clenched her fists and curled her toes as pins and needles shot through them as they thawed. There was something strangely satisfying, Clary decided, about taking a shower when you were genuinely dirty. She couldn't remember the last time she had been covered in more filth.

Wanting to linger in the hot, humid air of the bathroom Clary opened the plastic bag on the floor and wiped off the mud from the shin guards and cleats. She took her time, wanting to give her mother as much time alone as possible to calm down before Clary confronted her soccer. Clary was angry, too, that her mother was so angry - it was just soccer - everyone played soccer.

Her mother eventually called her downstairs and Clary went, taking care that her muddy soccer things didn't come in contact with the clean clothes she'd pulled on. She threw them in the washing machine under the stairs before she took a seat at the counter, where her pills and meal were laid out before her.

"So. Soccer," Clary started, taking her pills before starting the meal.

"Before we get to that, I want to know why you lied to me about where you were going to be," her mother said sharply.

"Well, it was still at school. And I was afraid you'd say no. But you see, they just really needed an extra player for the team, and if I want to graduate I need athletic hours," Clary said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

"I don't want to hear it, Clarissa. It was very deceitful of you, and I expect better than that. Can't you understand that I just want to make sure that you're safe, want to know where you are?"

"I'm sorry, but it's just something I really wanted to do."

"Well, you should have just asked me - although the answer would have been no, of course," Jocelyn said, matter-of-fact-like.

"What?" Clary exclaimed, dropping her fork on her plate, "why?"

"You're still in such a fragile physical state, I think you really should be spending your time resting, instead of chasing around after a ball outside in the mud."

"But mom, I do what you want - I hardly ever leave the house, I spend my abundance of spare time sleeping - you won't give me this one thing?" Clary said, her voice raised. She was furious, confused, hurt - her head began to pound again.

"My final answer is no. Drop the subject Clarissa."

"I'm going out," Clary said, violently pushing her chair out behind her, grabbing her coat and walking outside into the pouring rain.

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**I hope things are slowly becoming clearer and less confusing for everyone - if not, you could, you know, leave me a review so I can clear things up for you. I promise I'll update as soon as I can! Also for future reference, most chapters are probably going to be around this length, the first one was just short, and the story as a whole will end up being ten chapters or so, depending on if I tweak my outline or not. **


	4. Chapter 3

**Here's a new chapter for you guys, hope you enjoy it!**

**Also, obvious things are not mine.**

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Clary ran until the house was out of view, then stopped for a few moments and waited for the severe dizziness to subside. The rain was quickly soaking through her coat, but there was no way Clary would turn back home so soon. But she was out in her neighbourhood which she was still entirely unfamiliar with, with no phone and no money. In desperation she checked her pockets - she found a crumpled five dollar bill. Clary found herself walking along the route her mother drove her to school and happened upon a coffee shop that was still open at six thirty on a Tuesday.

Clary entered the cafe, self consciously pushing her wet hair out of her face and wiping her shoes on the mat. The place was mostly empty, with a couple university students typing away on their laptops, a couple quietly talking in the corner of the small shop. The one person behind the counter, a girl who had more piercings than Clary had fingers looking at her over her magazine, unamused at being interrupted.

"Large black coffee, please," Clary said, putting the damp five dollar bill on the counter.

"Name?" the barista asked, despite the deadness of the cafe.

"Clarissa," she sighed.

Clary smiled and said thanks when the barista placed the coffee on the counter, but she just quickly retreated behind her magazine.

Clary took a seat facing away from the windows of the cafe - she would have loved to sit and watch the rain pound against the glass - but she didn't want her mother to find her if she was out looking, not yet. She sipped quietly at her coffee, while she started to experience the unpleasant side effects of the medicine she'd taken at dinner.

"Hello," someone said quietly while pulling out a chair at the table next to her. Clary jumped, almost spilling scalding coffee all over her hand. Diagonally from her sat a boy, not much older than her, with white blonde hair, and angular face and the darkest eyes Clary had ever seen. She wondered if they were contacts, but he seemed to be dressed too normally, at least, to be into that sort of thing.

A sharp, shooting pain shot through Clary's head when his eyes locked with hers at the same time the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. There was a nagging familiarity about those eyes of his and their cold, calculating stare. But Clary knew she would never forget a face like his.

"Are you okay?" he asked, the words lacking any air of concern as he looked at Clary, who had clutched at her head with the sudden ache.

"Yeah, I'm sorry - it's not you, I just haven't been feeling well lately," she explained, purposefully avoiding his gaze.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you - you looked troubled, and I've found that sometimes just a hello from a stranger can brighten your day," he said, his eyes intent on her as he took a sip of his coffee.

"It's fine really," Clary said, unsure of why this stranger was trying to drag out the conversation, creating more small talk than was really necessary.

"Got caught outside?" he asked, gesturing to her wet hair.

"Yes I did, I still haven't mastered the art of bringing my umbrella everywhere."

"Yes, the umbrella is a necessity in a place like this. Moved here recently, then?" he asked, his presence making Clary squirm. There was something unnatural, not right about him. She was just thankful for the presence of the other patrons around them.

"Yeah, around the end of November," Clary shrugged, not seeing why he seemed so interested in that.

"Ah, November. It's quite the month - nothing ever seems to go according to plan," he said.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what you're talking about," Clary said, slowly pulling her cup closer towards herself, almost wanting to hide behind it, feeling like a mouse in the gaze of a snake.

"So it would seem," said the stranger, getting up from his seat, leaving his coffee, mostly untouched, on the table. "Have a good evening, Clarissa," he said, striding out of the store before Clary could ask how he knew her name.

Clary finished her coffee quickly after that, as it was getting cold. It sent her stomach churning as she got up to leave the cafe, pausing to throw her cup away - it was then she glanced her name on the side of the cup, barely legible. It didn't do much to ease the unsettled feeling in her stomach.

It was still pouring rain outside, and just as Clary exited the cafe a voice in the back of her head suggested that the creepy stranger might be waiting for her. Clary ran the three blocks to the townhouse, where every light was blazing, her mother sitting on the couch with the windows thrown wide open.

Clary's shoes squeaked as she closed the door behind her. She heard her mother clear her throat behind her, a sure sign that a lecture was about to begin, but Clary wasn't in the mood. Even the unsettled mood the stranger had instilled in her wasn't enough to dissipate any of the anger she felt towards her mother.

"Save it for tomorrow, mom," Clary spat, dripping as she climbed the stairs.

To her surprise, Jocelyn respected what Clary wanted - Clary wasn't disturbed for the rest of the night. She tried to focus on her French homework, but she could never keep the tenses straight in her head, and her mind wandered while she tried to complete the assigned readings. Eventually Clary just slammed her books shut - between her mother, the pounding her her head and the creepy stranger it was impossible to do anything that required her to concentrate.

Clary checked the door of her mother's room - closed, so she was probably in there, before creeping down the stairs as quietly as she could to check on the laundry she'd forgotten about. To her surprise, her mother had taken it out of the washer and had put it in the dryer for her, even folding the clothes and putting them in a neat pile on the counter. It was a sign of peace - Clary knew her mother hated laundry.

On her way back upstairs, Clary heard a muffled crying sound coming from her mother's room. As angry as she was, Clary couldn't stand to hide in her room while her mother cried.

"Mom?" Clary knocked a couple of times before pushing the door open. Her mother was curled up on her bed, staring at a photo that she quickly stashed away when Clary entered.

"Clarissa," Jocelyn said, wiping the tears away from her eyes in a fruitless attempt to hide her sorrow from Clary.

"I'm sorry that I walked out like that, but-"

"But I was wrong and you were right, I know how it goes. It's just, ever since the accident I've been so afraid of losing you, I've gotten used to having you around the whole time," Jocelyn said, her voice hoarse from crying.

"I'm scared sometimes too, mom, but I need to go out and live my life instead of spending all my time here, you have to understand that."

"It's just been hard," Jocelyn replied. And Clary knew - it hurt to see her mother so fragile, when she was usually so strong and sure of herself.

"You can't just make this bubble for me and expect me to never want to pop it," Clary said gently.

"You're right. Tomorrow after school, I'll get off of work on time for once and then we'll go and pick up whatever you need for soccer. If you're well enough to go running out of the house, I suppose you're well enough to run around a field after a ball."

Clary rushed over to her mother's bed and threw her arms around her.

"Thank you," Clary said again and again, hugging her mother tightly, in a way she hadn't since the accident. Jocelyn seemed a little dazed as she returned the hug.

"If I'm not mistaken - Grey's Anatomy is on right now - care to join me?" Jocelyn asked, shuffling over to make room for Clary on the bed.

"Of course," Clary said, settling herself down into the pillows. She was surprised by the offer - something like this hadn't happened since before the accident. Clary guessed her mom wanted to get her mind off of whatever had made her so sad, and Clary wasn't about to hurt her feelings again.

Clary was sitting in the hallway during her free block before lunch, when a group of girls from her grade walked past. They giggled and pointed, whispering the word "freak" loud enough for Clary to hear.

If Clary had been the same girl she was in New York, she would have stood up for herself. But the new Clary, determined to keep a low profile just continued staring at the textbook in front of her.

"Hey Stacey, your spray tan is running!" shouted Charlie from the end of the hall. Stacey dropped the books she was hold and ran off to the bathroom, her two friend picking up her books before they ran after her.

Clary smiled at Charlie as she walked to up her.

"No offense Clarissa, but I really don't like the people in your grade," Charlie said.

"I don't really like them either," Clary said, wishing her head wouldn't pound when she looked up at the fluorescent lights of the hallway. "But thanks for telling them off, but you really don't need to - I don't mind."

"Did you do anything to those girls that made you deserve being called a freak?" Charlie demanded.

"No," Clary said, unsure of where Charlie was going with this.

"So what you're saying is that it's alright for people to treat you like shit, even if you haven't done anything to deserve it. That's a miserable way to think of yourself, don't you think?"

Clary knew Charlie was right, but decided not to answer.

"Let's go out for coffee," Charlie offered after a slight awkward pause.

"Sure," Clary said, taking Charlie's hand as she got up off the floor.

Charlie drove them in her nice, new car to the nearest Starbucks, which was in walking distance, but Charlie had insisted on driving because of the pouring rain.

Once they were seated with their lattes, Charlie took a long look at Clary.

"What?" Clary asked, defensive, coming off as rude, although she didn't mean to. But Charlie was staring.

"There's just something about you - you never seem entirely pleasant," she said, her tone making it seem she was commenting on the weather as opposed to Clary's personality.

"There's some truth to that," Clary shrugged, taking a sip of her coffee.

"You don't want to reveal anything, do you?"

"It takes me a while to open up to people, I guess."

"You know that I want to be your friend, right Clarissa?"

"I'm sorry, I just find it hard sometimes," Clary trailed off, feeling guilty when she saw the genuine concern on Charlie's face.

"Here's a game I like to play - I tell you something about myself and you can tell me something about yourself. No questions," Charlie said, her gaze fierce on Clary, challenging her.

"Okay," Clary agreed reluctantly.

They started small, with likes a dislikes - the problem was, Clary had a pretty neutral feeling about everything. Charlie quickly caught onto this, and changed her facts accordingly.

"I hate how much pressure my parents put on me," she said.

"I hate how much my mother protects me," Clary replied.

"One bad case of food poisoning has permanently ruined french fries for me."

"I used to draw all the time, but I haven't in months," Clary said, the words surprising her as they came out of her mouth. Charlie took a sip of coffee as she fought the urge to ask Clary questions.

"My little brother died when I was seven," Charlie said in the same casual tone that she used earlier.

"Excuse me?" Clary was the first one to break the question rule.

But Charlie didn't seem to mind.

"Yeah, it's something I'm open about with people - I feel like once they find out about it, they see me differently, so I figured why not let everyone know that from the start. Also, my parents never want to talk about it, so I need someone to talk about it to - why not everyone?" Charlie said, her confidence wavering as she stared into her coffee cup. She looked back at Clary and was alarmed to see tears running down her face.

"Why are you crying?" Charlie asked, confusion knitting her eyebrows together.

"I don't know. I feel like I've gone through the same thing, but I haven't. It feels strange," Clary said, trying to take sip of her coffee, but she hands were shaking too badly to do so.

"But there's others who have died, haven't there?" Charlie asked. Her speech had inspired Clary to tell her, even if she didn't know her well - a deep, dark secret wasn't a deep dark secret if you told it to people from the get go.

"In August, I was in a car accident - my uncle Luke died, even though he wasn't actually my uncle. He was the closest person I had to a father. I was in a coma for three months afterward, during which my best friend caught the flu and died," Clary said and to her surprise she felt relieved, rather than anxious after sharing these things that had caused her so much pain in the past three months.

"I'm sorry," Charlie said, her brown eyes radiating sincerity. "You're not fully recovered from the accident, are you?"

"No," Clary admitted. "I feel weak sometimes, but most of the time it's a headache. Sometimes my hands shake, too," she said, showing Charlie her shaking hands.

"We shouldn't have forced you to be on the team, I don't think you-"

"No," Clary cut her off mid sentence, "I managed to get a yes out of my mom, which was a miracle in itself. Really, what I want is to be better," she insisted.

Charlie didn't argue with Clary, nor did she try and ask questions about Luke and Simon, which assured Clary that Charlie was someone she could see herself being friends with.

When Clary came home with Jocelyn that night, after they had gone out to buy Clary cleats, socks and shin guards, Clary's mood sharply contrasted with that of her mother's. Her lunchtime conversation and acquisition of soccer gear had made Clary happier than she had been in weeks. However, something seemed to be bugging her mother.

"Mom, did something happen today?" Clary asked as she cleaned the kitchen after dinner.

"Yes - one of 's assistants who was supposed to go to a conference with him in Toronto over the weekend can no longer go, and he wants me to go with him," she said with a sigh.

"Mom, isn't that a good thing, that he wants you to go?" Clary asked, confused as she scrubbed dishes in the sink.

"I'm just hesitant to leave you alone here in the house - you haven't been home alone since the accident, and I'd feel awful, leaving you here all alone for three days."

"Don't be - I have soccer games on Thursday and Friday anyways - I'm probably just going to be doing homework and sleeping for the rest of the weekend. I can take the bus home, although I think some of my team mates might be willing to give me a ride," Clary said, trying to provide the strongest case possible, that she was responsible enough to be left on her own. She didn't want her mother missing out on work opportunities just because of her.

"I could always get another job-"

"No mom, go, I'll be fine," Clary insisted. She looked up from the dishes to see her mother staring at her with an odd look in her eye.

"I just want to make sure you'll be okay here by yourself - are you sure you'll be fine and remember to take your meds on time?" she asked.

"Of course," Clary nodded. She never forgot to take the little pills her mother laid out for her everyday.

The next morning, Clary gave her mother a hug before getting out of the car, her soccer gear slung over her shoulder. Jocelyn's flight left late that afternoon, so Clary wouldn't see her after soccer. Clary had to sit in the car an extra five minutes as her mother told her things to remember over and over again.

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**Hehe... Clary's had some interesting chats over coffee, hasn't she? Let's not forget what happened the last time Jocelyn was away from Clary... Please review, it really does brighten my day. I'll update as soon as I can! **


	5. Chapter 4

**Hello silent readers, as usual, the obvious things aren't mine. **

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Clary felt like she was going to puke, and it wasn't the usual nausea that accompanied her headaches. She tied up the laces on her neon cleats as slowly as she could, meticulously tightening each of her laces. She was the last one in the locker room.

It was raining, just as hard as it had been the day of the tryouts that, of course, weren't actually tryouts.

"Come on, Clarissa," Charlie stuck her head in the doorway of the change room, wearing a large raincoat over her soccer uniform, her bangs out of her face for once.

Clary got up and trod over to where Charlie stood in the doorway, tapping her foot impatiently.

"You look like you're off to fight to the death or something" Charlie commented as they walked down the hallway, already abandoned thirty minutes after the bell had rung.

"I am going to suck and then I am going to die," Clary said, deadpan.

"It's just soccer, Clarissa - and the girls from Northwood are nothing compared to what we have to face tomorrow with Holy Cross," she said with a sneer.

"Arch rivals?" asked Clary.

"Yes, not to mention we're sure some of the girls' parents were Scandinavian weightlifters," Charlie said as they headed out into the pouring rain. Clary began to shiver immediately, despite of the warm sweater she had wrapped around herself. Three months in Vancouver and she still hadn't had the sense to invest in a good rain jacket.

"Thanks, I'm so looking forward to getting trampled by them as well."

Clary's fake enthusiasm was quite apparent.

"I promise things won't be too bad. You're one of our two subs, and mostly likely Coach will put in Taylor before you and honestly all of the girls out there are capable of playing a full game. She'll probably put you in today, just to give you a taste of things and to give some of us a rest because we're taking on Holy Cross tomorrow."

"Thanks for trying, Charlie," Clary said, squinting through the rain at the field ahead, where Northwood was already warming up. St. Mary's was huddled up in a circle, with their heads turned towards Clary and Charlie as they made their way over. There was about half a dozen parents dotted around the sidelines with their umbrellas, but obviously today was not a day for spectators.

Clary kept up well enough during their warm up laps and drills, Charlie constantly critiquing Clary as they passed the ball back and fourth.

Just before the game started, the coach gathered them all in and started saying positions to everyone, which Clary mainly understood, but one practice wasn't enough for her to understand the strategies the coach listed off before sending the rest of the girls off the field.

"Here, Clarissa," Bridget said, tossing her raincoat over to Clary as she put on her goalie gloves.

"Thanks and good luck!" Clary shouted at her as she jogged over to the end of the field. Clary was practically swimming in Bridget's jacket, of course, but it was better than her sweater, which was already quite damp. It prevented the wind from cutting through her at least.

The game started, and Clary's eyes were rapt on the ball, despite the pangs of headache and nausea that seemed to come in waves. It wasn't as bad as it usually was, which allowed her to focus on the game. She cringed as Charlie went down, but was relieved as Charlie took a hand from someone and stood up, laughing, covered in mud.

Soon it was halftime, and there was still no score. Clary thought they had been doing okay, though - Bridget had barely had to touch the ball, whereas Northwood's goalie had had to make a couple of saves since they were playing in their end of the field most of the time.

"Clarissa, you'll be going on for Megan in midfield, Taylor you'll be going on for Theresa on defense. Take a jog to warm up," instructed Clary's coach. Clary handed Bridget's coat back to her before she and Taylor jogged in silence to one end of the field and back.

Clary got into position, accepting Charlie's high five as she jogged past.

"Let's go Clarissa!" Bridget yelled from behind her.

The whistle blew and Clary began to jog forward with the rest of the team.

The first couple of time the ball was kicked towards her, Clary panicked, giving it up to the other team, although Taylor and Charlie were quickly able to wrest it from them and send it sailing towards the other side of the field.

But slowly Clary began to have more confidence in herself, passing it on to a member of her team most of the time. She legs began to ache, her breathe ragged as she jogged back on fourht on the field, often breaking out into a run when she needed to.

Since it was February, the sky was already beginning to darken as the rain poured down harder. The field didn't have any lights.

In the final five minutes it was still scoreless. Charlie had just passed the ball up to Clary, who was sprinting up the field, a girl from Northwood just behind her. Her headache had worsened and she was short of breath, which made her surprised that the girl from Northwood hadn't caught up to her yet.

Clary looked up, looking for someone to pass the ball to. Someone's face caught her eye on the sidelines - his hood was up, his blonde hair plastered to his face, but it was unmistakably the boy who had talked to Clary at that coffee shop two nights ago.

A feeling of recognition swept through her - she did know him from somewhere besides the coffee shop. She didn't remember his name, or where she knew him from, the only thing she could remember, the one thing that completely occupied her mind was that he terrified her. There was no other coherent thought, just the terror that flowed through her.

Her teammates said that she stopped dead in her tracks before collapsing.

Clary woke up just a minute later, the rain on her face stinging as she looked up at the crowd of people around her. She quickly looked for the boy, but he was gone. There were so many people yelling at her, it made the world spin and Clary didn't know where to begin answering questions.

"Let's take her inside," instructed the referee. Charlie and Eloise put Clary's arms over their shoulders and steadied her as they walked off the field. The girls from Northwood and the parents on the sidelines politely clapped as she headed off the field.

Once she was safely back in the change rooms, the coach ushered the two girls away as she asked Clary a lot of questions. Clary revealed that she hadn't been feeling well, couldn't remember the last time she'd had a glass of water.

Clary insisted that she was fine, there was no need to take her to the hospital, that her mother was out of town and that there was no need to call her. It was fortunate that her mother was out of town - she would use this as an example of Clary not being well enough to play and would never let her play soccer again.

She was sipping at a cup of water as the rest of the team filed in, as muddy, wet and exhausted as she was. Every girl on the team stopped by to make sure Clary was okay. The referee had called the game a draw - it was so wet and rainy, nobody really wanted to go through all the trouble of a shootout.

Clary's fingers were so numb, she had trouble undoing her meticulously knotted cleats. Bridget reached over and undid them for her, her hands kept warm with her gloves.

Most of the girls didn't see the point in changing back into their school uniform in their current mud covered states - most of them left as soon as they had collected their things.

"Clarissa, how are you getting home?" Charlie asked, her school shoes clashing with her muddied soccer uniform.

"The bus, I guess," Clary said dubiously, looking down and herself and feeling where a clump of mud and rooted itself in her hair when she had fallen.

"I'll give you a ride home," Charlie said.

"Oh no, I wouldn't want to get your car all muddy," Clary said, thinking of the pristine leather seats.

"Oh, I have some plastic covers stashed in the back for occasions like this. There's no way I'm letting you bus home when you just fainted."

"Thanks," Clary said, for once not feeling guilty about accepting Charlie's hospitality. She didn't want to stand at the bus stop for ten minutes in the rain and cold - she just wanted to go come and take a shower.

Clary slid into Charlie's car after she had put in plastic covers on her seat, looking just as ridiculous as Charlie did with her school shoes and soccer uniform.

Clary knew her exact address, but Charlie didn't know the street. Fortunately, Charlie knew the coffee shop just down the street from Clary's and headed out. Clary shuddered when she thought of the boy she had met in the coffee shop and the terror he instilled in her, for reasons she didn't know.

Clary thanked Charlie for the ride as she exited the car, and smiled as Charlie waited until she was safely inside her townhouse before Charlie drove away.

Clary desperately tried to remember where she knew the boy from - but it seemed like there was nothing in her head about him - even her terror of him seemed hard to reach. A lingering fear was deeply set in Clary's mind. Being careful not to get mud on anything, she locked the front door behind her, turned on the TV, turned on all of the downstairs lights before she headed upstairs and turned on the lights in her room and the bathroom.

Leaving her muddy clothes in a heap, Clary stepped into the shower, the water scalding hot against her chilled skin. She resisted the urge to lower the water temperature, standing still in the stream until she could stand it. She searched through her mind for any memory of this boy in her past as she scrubbed the mud from her skin and hair - it took three rinses with shampoo to get all of the mud out.

Clary was warm, clean and sleepy when she got out of the shower and put on her pajamas before leaving the warm sanctuary of the shower.

She crossed her room to lose the curtains and out of the corner of her eye saw a blonde boy, dressed in all black sitting in her courtyard, despite the pouring rain. She wasn't sure if it was the boy from the coffee shop, but it could have been him. Before she knew was she was doing, Clary had swung open the glass door and stormed out to the courtyard.

"Hey, you!" she called out, but the boy was gone. Tears welled in Clary's eyes. She swore the boy had just been there - it was impossible for somebody to just disappear like that. She wanted to ask him where he knew her from - there was no other explanation for how he had acted towards him at the coffee shop. But why was she so scared of him.

Desperately unhappy, Clary headed back into the house and changed into dry pajamas. She decided to skip dinner and had a warm glass of milk with her medicine. She still left some of the lights on as she went upstairs, even though she had no intention of coming back downstairs.

She went upstairs as started to work on one of her English papers. But as she worked she slowly started to get dizzy. Her English paper was turning out to be crap, as well. Frustrated, she slammed her notebook shut and the tears that had been threatening to spill over the entire evening overcame her. She just wanted to get better to stop living this half assed life where she always felt sick, where sometimes it felt like a part of her was missing, where she only could only remember things fleetingly.

She fell asleep, crying loudly, unhappy for reasons she couldn't remember.

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**I promise I'll get to where I'm going soon, everyone. But in the meantime, it'd be really nice to get some reviews, you know?**


	6. Chapter 5

**Hey everyone, I think you guys are gonna like this one. Obvious things aren't mine. Enjoy!**

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Instead of being in Biology at ten o'clock that Friday morning, Clary was curled up on the couch in her pajamas, eating a bowl of sugary cereal with the perfect amount of milk. Her bottle of pills sat behind the counter, forgotten. Clary was feeling pretty good. She'd awoken just as her bus was supposed to leave - she decided to take advantage of the freedom her mother's absence and take the morning off - she had fainted yesterday, after all. And missing just a half day instead of a full day would make it less of an exploitation of her mother's trust, she told herself.

After the initial sickness of being awake, Clary had started to feel better, better than she'd felt in weeks. She could focus on the TV without having her head spin, actually had an appetite for the bowl of cereal in front of her, which was her second. She remembered what had happened the previous night, how scraed and upset she'd been, but by the light of day it all seemed surreal, problems for another time. For the moment she was comfy, in front of the TV and had unlimited access to whatever she wanted to eat. Life could be worse, she mused.

Clary had never been really been a TV watcher before the accident, but because TV was pretty much the best thing to do while you felt sick, Clary had found heself watching more and more of it as of late. She followed a couple of shows, but not religiously. She mostly browsed, watched whatever seemed good or interesting.

Soon enough it was eleven-thirty and Clary dragged herself off the couch to the dryer, folded up her un-muddied soccer uniform and threw it in her bag with her cleats and shin guards. She was nervous about the game against Holy Cross, but she felt confident that today would go better - maybe she'd just been seeing things, seeing the stranger from the coffee shop during the game. Still, she couldn't shake the sensation of fear he gave her. She tried to tell herself that it was nonsense, that he was just some guy in a coffee shop that she would never seen again, shouldn't let that bring her down when she was feeling the best she'd been in months.

Clary left the house in a hurry, late for her bus. Her bottle of pills sat out on the counter, untouched.

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The sun had finally started to shine as the second half of the tied game against Holy Cross commenced. Theresa sat beside Clary, shivering with fever, only there because they wouldn't have been able to play the game if they didn't have enough team members on and off the field. There was no chance their coach would put her in. Clary was shocked at the dedication of every girl on her team, how they banded together for a common cause.

Of course, Clary had just as much of a chance as Theresa of being played, considering that she'd fainted in yesterday's match. But today Clary just felt different, on top of things. She tried to show that to the coach in warm up, not missing any of the passes while she was with Charlie, and even scoring on Bridget every time during warm up. Clary felt sharp and fast, itched to get out on the field and run as fast as she could. She bounced up and down on her toes as her teammates ran back and fourth across the field, trying to get that one goal that would allow them to edge past Holy Cross 2-1.

A girl from Holy Cross slammed into Taylor as she tried to make a pass, causing Taylor to awkwardly land on her ankle and cry out in pain. The game stopped and the coach ran over to Taylor, who lay on the ground, clutching her ankle. Soon enough she was escorted off the field, recieving the same hesitant applause that Clary did when she was carried off.

Their coach appraised Clary and Theresa for a second, almost as if she was contemplating putting Theresa in instead of Clary. But she just sighed and told Clary to go and warm up. Clary was off right away, jogging to the goal and back faster than she probably should have, but she just felt better. Spunky.

Clary even got to take the kick given to St. Mary's - she sent the ball deep into the other end of the field, felt like she was flying as she ran to catch up with it. It didn't even bother her that some members of her opposition really did look like they were the descendants of Scandinavian weightlifters.

The rest of the game passed like a blur, everything felt effortless to Clary. Even at the end of the half when the minute whistle sounded, she felt like it'd been five minutes instead of thirty-five. Clary was bringing the ball up the field, gave a cross to Eloise, who slipped it in past the goalie. She immediately ran over to Clary, jumping onto her. The rest of the team crowded around as well, giving as many congratulations to Clary as they did to Eloise.

St. Mary's still had the lead when the final whistle blew. After shaking hands after the game, the girls of the team filed back into the change room, high off of the first win of the season, with Clary in the midst of it all. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so happy.

"Hey Clarissa your mom's out of town, right?" Bridget asked as they stripped off their cleats.

"Uh, yeah," Clary said, thinking it a weird question.

"My boyfriend Dexter is throwing a party at his place tonight. He goes to St. Mark's, our brother school? You should definitely come, it's going to be tons of fun," Bridget said, her tone leaving no room for the world no.

"Is there going to - Are people going to be drinking?" Clary asked.

"What sort of party would it be if there wasn't? Don't worry about getting some, I have tons and Dexter always has some kegs. We're going to be able to get good and drunk, no problem," Bridget said.

"Please Clary?" Eloise breezed over, squishing Clary between herself and Bridget.

"I don't have anything to wear..." Clary trailed off.

"Between my closet and Charlie's we'll find you something to wear - even us midgets have some fabulous clothes that make us look tall, unlike miss Bridget here."

"Hey, at least you can wear heels," Bridget shot back.

A hour and a half later, Clary found herself sitting in the middle of Eloise's walk in closet as her and Charlie whirled around her like fairy godmothers, putting on make up and holding clothes to her skinny frame. Almost everything was too big. Clary had a sense of deja-vu and she moved her eyes in all of these positions and they insisted on putting on eyeliner and mascara, but she was certain she'd never worn this much make-up before.

"You must've been lucky. No scars from the accident, huh?" Charlie ased as she watched Clary change into a dress that Eloise had grown out of a couple of years ago and had never bothered to throw away, because it was "too cute".

"I guess not," Clary said, looking down at her legs, most of which were bared in the dress. She'd never really noticed the lack of scras, considering everything would have healed after she'd spent three months in a coma.

It was nine-thirty by the time they finally declared Clary to be fit for party going. Clary tottered in her high heels and black skirt that was kept up by a belt. She'd glanced at herself in a mirror, but didn't recognize the girl looking back - and she didn't care to.

They took a taxi to Dexter's, since it was too cold to walk and there was no way any of them would be safe to drive by the end of the night, a sentiment which Clary shared.

She shivered as they walked up the driveway to Dexter's house, illuminated by the lights inside. There were already at least fifty people in and around the enormous house - another taxi dropped another four people off just as they made it to the door.

Bridget answered it, red cup in hand.

"Hi!," she cooed, falling all over the three of them - well on her way to drunk, wherever that was.

She ushered the three of them to the kitchen, filling red cups with beer for all of them. "Drink!" she urged.

Clary stuck to Charlie most of the time, smiling and introducing herself, but never really getting into conversations.

After Charlie had said hi to everybody she wanted to, she and Clary found themselves a corner to sit in an observe the others in the revelry. Clary, who'd had nothing to eat since breakfast was already feeling a little tipsy after one glass of beer.

"Wait, so why is Dexter having this party again?" Clary asked Charlie.

"I think it's supposed to be a funeral for his hamster or something... But really, I think his DJ friend Stuart just really wanted to try out his new equipment," Charlie said, her cheeks flushed as she looked into the bottom of her cup.

Sure enough, Clary looked outside to see a mass of people dancing underneath a massive white tent that had been placed outside, lights swirling and fog creeping around the crowd. Clary was entranced by the green and blue beams as they spun around and around. It reminded Clary of the times she'd gone to Pandemonium with Simon - the alcohol made the thought of him more bearable, at least.

Yet, the alcohol coursing through her system sort of made Clary want to burst into tears at the same time.

Eloise then burst from the throng of people standing around the room, three shot glasses full of blue liquid in her hands.

"Pornstars. Drink up," she said, handing two off to Clary and Charlie before taking hers, not even waiting to see if they were following her lead. She was already drunk. Clary gave a dubious look at Charlie, who shrugged and knocked hers back. Clary took hers, prepared for the vile taste of alcohol, but the liquid was all sweet and sour, going down as easily as a soda.

"Can we get some more?" Clary asked Eloise. The taste was so much better than the beer she had been drinking, For months, she'd been looking for something to numb everything, her troubled thoughts and sickness. It seemed as if this was doing the trick.

"Come with me, we'll make some in the kitchen." Eloise took Clary's hand and pulled her along. Cary head gave a sudden spin and she stumbled the first few steps but after that she was able to navigate through the people crowded everywhere.

In the kitchen, there wasn't an inch of counter that wasn't covered by bottles or spilled drink. Eloise grabbed two of the bottles and started to pour them into a shaker. Clary looked around as she shook and poured the shots. Here, nobody cared if they hadn't even seen her before - there was this type of anononimity to the place that made Clary brave. She didn't even wait for Eloise a she downed the shot.

"Let's dance," Clary suggested, the dance floor so alluring, just beyond the kitchen windows.

Eloise agreed to the idea enthusiastically, taking her drink before they headed out into the backyard, under the massive white tent. Despite the coolness of the night, the was heat radiating out from everywhere. Eloise pulled Clary into the middle of it. The music pounded through Clary, allowing her to forget everything. She lost Eloise - she couldn't care. Boys came up from behind her, their faces unseen to Clary, their beer-rank breath hot on her neck as they grabbed her hips and began to move against her. Clary would dance with them for a song, sometimes half, then pull away, never seeing their faces. There was a voice in her head saying she should stop, that this wasn't a good idea - but she ignored it, the alcohol telling her she could do whatever she wanted.

Then, a boy his face shrouded by the lights, his eyes wide and eager came up to Clary. He took her hand hesitantly, as if asking permission to dance with her. Clary let him pull her close, put his hands around her waist as they moved to the music. She decided that she liked him more than all of the others. He wasn't in a hurry like the rest of the boys, his hands staying on her hips instead of drifting lower and lower. She danced with him, instead of just letting him dance around her.

There was a scream from the front of the crowd as a sudden cool mist blew over the crowd, within it a million silver sparkles swirling among it. Clary stopped in her tracks.

Silver flakes swirled around her when she looked up, falling down towards her, shimmering in the flashing lights. She licked her lips as it rained down on her, leaving no trace on her skin. There was something familiar about this scene, but she couldn't remember where. The music, the dancing, the silver flakes in the sky.

It was like there were too many people around her all of a sudden, she had to get out. Using her elbows she ran through the crowd, not caring who she knocked into. She just needed to get away from the silver mist that she'd seen before, although she couldn't remember where. She could never remember where, she thought bitterly as she walked through the house in search of Charlie, the boy from the dance floor completely forgotten.

As she rounded a corner she ran on into a girl, who would have been much taller than her even if it hadn't been for the seven inch heeled boots she was wear underneath her long, flowing red dress. Her long, black hair was all done up in a twist on her head. She was one of the most beautiful people Clary had ever seen - she also looked dangerous, in a strangely beautiful way.

"I am so sorry," she said, bending down to examine the stain on Clary's skirt where she'd spilled her drink. Clary normally would have been a little pissed, but she was still in a daze from the silver rain outside, her mind racing as she tried to come up with the previous memory of it.

"Come with me to the bathroom, I'll help you clean up," she said, leading Clary to the bathroom just across the hall.

"It's okay, I'm fine, I'm sure the skirt will be too. Black hides everything, right?" Clary said, preoccupied, as the girl reached to grab a towel and dabbed at the damp spot on Clary's skirt.

"It does, fortunately for me and you. I'm Isabelle, by the way," Isabelle said, rolling up the sleeves of her dress as she worked at the stain with expertise.

"I'm Clarissa," Clary said. Isabelle's scrubbing movements stopped for a second, as if she hadn't been expecting that answer. Clary sensed that this wasn't some normal encounter. Had she met this girl somewhere before? Of course, she couldn't remember. She quickly abandoned the search for the silver rain memory to the search for a memory of this girl.

"I should find my friend. Thanks for helping me," Clary said, darting out of the bathroom. She didn't want to ask Isabelle if they'd met before - all she wanted was to be able to remember things on her own. It only took her a minute to find Charlie, who was in the same room they had been in earlier.

"Are you okay?" Charlie asked, taking in Clary's disheveled appearance from the dance floor. Her cheeks were flushed and her face still looked troubled from her encounter with Isabelle.

"Fine," Clary insisted, leaning against the nearest wall and sitting down. She was starting to feel tired, and a little sick the room spun around her a little. Clary just wished that it would stop.

Charlie was about to say something else, but her head sudden turned as she was distracted by a group entering the room. Clary followed her gaze and saw Isabelle striding into the room, followed by two boys. One of them could have been her brother, with his height and jet black hair that fell into his blue eyes that were scanning the room, stopping on Clary. Clary didn't notice, as she was trapped within the gaze of the second boy. His golden eyes seemed to burn right through her, making her heart race. She didn't notice the dark circles under his eyes, the disheveled appearance of his blonde hair. He seemed to familiar to her it made her chest ache. She didn't know what to do with herself - she was frozen in his gaze, unable to think of anything but him. Isabelle noticed the exchange and elbowed the boy in the ribs, his eyes darting away from Clary who continued to stare at him.

Of course he has a girlfriend, Clary thought.

"Who are they?" Charlie gawked, then whistled. Her mouth was wide open as she stared at the three newcomers.

"Sit tight here, Clary, I think Eloise might want to introduce herself," she said as she shoved her half empty cup of beer in Clary's hands, almost running in her haste to get Eloise.

When Clary looked back, the three of them were gone. She was alone on the floor, cup of beer in her lap. But while she was looking across the room for them she saw the boy she had been dancing with. He looked different in the lights of the house, although not exactly unattractive. He smiled when he saw her, then sat down on the floor beside her.

"What're you doing here? I mean, the floor can't be that comfortable." he said to Clary.

"Sleepy," Clary said before she yawned, closing her eyes and putting her hand over her mouth as she did. The room was spinning a little more now and Clary tried to stay as still as possible, because it wasn't as bad then.

"I know - these things can get boring after a while. Do you want to get out of here?" he asked, lowering his voice so it was barely audible over the music that filtered in from outside.

"Where would we go?" Clary asked, raising the cup of warm beer to her lips, just for something to do.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," came an angry voice from above her, a voice that Clary instantly recognized. From where? Of course, she didn't know. And of course it would be the boy with whom she'd locked gazes earlier.

"Wouldn't do what?" Clary asked him, irritated because he'd interrupted them and she couldn't remember.

"Both. He just slipped something in your drink, Clary," the blonde boy said, arrogance and anger laced into each syllable. He looked like a coiled snake, especially from where Clary was sitting below him. The boy beside Clary quickly stood up and then looked startled once he realized that the blonde boy standing above him could see over his head with ease.

Nonetheless, the boy Clary had been dancing with wound up his fist behind him and attempted to punch the blonde boy, Clary gasped and scrambled away just in time as the blonde boy effortlessly dodged the punched and landed one of his own, knocking the boy to the floor. His movements were rash, yet calculated. At this point all eyes in the room were on them. He lunged as if to land another punch, but the boy with black who had been with him earlier touched his shoulder and the blonde boy froze, then relaxed his position, all of the anger draining out of him. He just looked tired, like the most tired person in the world.

But Clary was furious.

"Why did you call me Clary? I've never seen you before in my life. How did you know my name?" she shouted as she stood up, before stumbling a couple as the room spun around her. Isabelle reached out to support Clary, but she pushed her away, using the wall instead to steady herself.

It was like her words had punched a hole right through him. Clary had an overwhelming urge to reach out to him, every piece of her was screaming for her to go to him, she couldn't stand to see him stand there and look so defeated. But she was so angry as well, at everything and everyone - especially herself.

"I think our welcome here is over," muttered the blue-eyed boy quietly as some rugby players entered the room, led in by Bridget and her boyfriend. They did not look happy.

They didn't have to be asked to leave - the trio turned and left before Clary could do anything, and before they could answer her questions.

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**Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter - as you guys can probably tell, next chapter is going to be satisfying, so I'm going to hold it ransom for reviews.**

**Just kidding, as usual, I'll post it once it's written, but I seriously appreciate all of the reviews I get! This story is going to get wrapped up sooner or later as well, so let me know how I'm doing while I'm still writing this thing. You are absolutely lovely if you've bothered to read all of this, I hope you have a lovely day. **


	7. Chapter 6

**Enjoy! Obvious things aren't mine. Thanks for the reviews, keep 'em coming. **

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Upon awakening the next morning, Clary was greeted with set of familiar feelings.

Pounding headache.

Dry mouth.

Churning stomach.

Spinning world.

It was twice as bad as it had ever been when she was on the drugs - before she could even begin to recall the events of the previous night she felt bile rise in her throat. She stood up and tried to run to the bathroom, but she was still wearing perilously high heels from the previous night. That, combined with the sudden increase of dizziness, Clary's feet hooked together and she fell, her torso and head landing in the hallway, her feet and the death traps that were attached to them still in her bedroom. Ignoring the pain that had shot through her wrist as she landed, Clary crawled the short distance from there to her bathroom, using all of the willpower she had to not vomit. Her whole body was shaking by the time she reached the porcelain of the toilet, her clothes from last night sticking to her, a sheen of sweat visible on her forehead. Her arms grasped the sides of the bowl as she heaved, acrid yellow bile coming up from her stomach, it's stench permeating the room, making Clary retch again and again. Before long, she gave up trying to keep her hair out of her face, letting it hang where it liked as she emptied the seemingly never-ending contents of her stomach.

After two final dry heaves, Clary collapsed onto the cold tiles of the bathroom, with barely enough energy to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. As sick as she felt, she could remember everything from last night - for once there were no holes in her memory, only the ones that had already existed last night. She couldn't recall exact words or expressions, but the summary of last night was clear in her head. She remembered coming home last night, insisting that she was okay while choosing to enter her house from the door in the courtyard that led to her room for some unfathomable drunk reason, collapsing on her bed as the room spun, to drunk to change or even take her shoes off. She took advantage of the cessation of puking by kicking her shoes off.

But for the moment, the needs of her body came before she could even try to make sense of the events from last night. Clary tried to remember what you could do to help with hangovers.

Water, she thought. With deliberate slowness, she turned herself so that she was laying by the sink, used the ledge to pull herself up just so her eyes could peer over the edge. She had to stay there for a few moments as she waited for the world to stop spinning so vigorously. With deliberate slowness, she reached for the glass by the sink and turned the water on. Even kneeling and leaning against the sink she was unsteady as the glass filled with water, her arm shaking as it held the glass at an awkward angle underneath the water. Her wrist ached from earlier. When she finished filling the glass, she half fell onto the floor, splashing water over her skirt. She leaned against the cupboards underneath the sink, taking tiny sips of water, concentrating on getting fluid into her system, and making sure that she wasn't going to puke again.

The events of last night were hazy, but she kept thinking back to the final moments that she'd been at the party, the golden-eyes boy and his companions. He had called her Clary, which must have meant that he had known her in New York - but why couldn't she remember him? He cared about her, enough to be furious when the other boy had tried to take advantage of her. She regretted getting so angry at the boy who had punched him for calling her Clary - if it hadn't been for him, she would probably be in a very different situation this morning. Her heart ached every time she remembered his face when she'd spat at him - she didn't know why exactly, but it just seemed like a crime to hurt someone so badly. Beautiful faces always seemed to be the best at expressing pain, she mused as her head continued to pound.

She was halfway done her glass of water when the room finally stopped spinning enough for her to turn around and grab some painkillers from underneath the sink, swallowing the with a large gulp of water that sat uncomfortably in her stomach. As the pounding in Clary's head started to fade, she noticed her clumped and matted hair, how sweat from last night's party had created a sticky sheen over her skin. In general, she just felt disgusting, especially her mouth. She didn't think she was quite up to tasting toothpaste, but Clary crawled into the shower, not even caring that she was fully clothed. She turned the water on from a sitting position, and let it soak her and her clothes. It was odd, taking a shower in the near-dark of the bathroom, the dim light in the hallway that came in through the open door was the only source illuminating the room.

Her shirt was stubbornly stuck to her body, the water plastering it to her skin so thoroughly each of her ribs were defined. Clary soon gave up the struggle and peeled her skirt off, chucking it to the other end of the shower, out of the way. Clary gave up showering when she saw her shampoo bottles up above her on the shelf. She turned off the water and began shivering almost immediately, the loss of heat a shock. She crawled out of the bathtub just like she'd come in, pulling a towel around herself. Her headache and dizziness were almost gone now, though her stomach still rolled at the thought of food. Clary stood on her knees and she grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste. She brushed her tetth probably longer than she had ever had, but whenever she thought of stopping she remembered the feeling of the slime on them when she had begun, the bitter taste of bile that had still roamed in her mouth. She brushed her tongue for good measure.

Now that she was feeling relatively human again, Clary stood up, leaning against the wall on the way back to her room. She wanted to think more about the events of last night, but she knew she had to take care of herself first, and in her current state she could only focus on one thing at a time. She shed the rest of her party clothes, pulled on sweat pants and an old tank top, tied her hair up. By now the sickness had receded to it was less than it usually was she she first awoke, after taking her medication. She guessed she'd been up for an hour and a half or so, when she included all the puking and moaning about on her bathroom floor like an invalid. Clary cautiously descended downstairs, filling the kettle and putting it on the stove before turning on the artificial fireplace underneath the T.V. and grabbing a blanket to wrap around herself - she was freezing. As Clary went to choose which type of tea, she spotted her bottles of the pills in the middle of the counter, daring her to take them. As sick as she had felt that morning, Clary sensed that it didn't have anything to do with her neglecting to take the pills - she had a stereotypical hangover, nothing more. Maybe if she talked to her mother about it, showed her that she didn't need the pills, she wouldn't have to take them anymore, suffer the horrible side effects.

Now that Clary could focus past her various aliments, she felt deeply unsettled. Who were those people last night? She recalled the familiarity in the girl's voice, Isabelle, the one who had spilled her drink onto Clary. There was something about her manner, some unsaid expectation of Clary that she obviously had not met. She only had one name to go on - Isabelle, and even in this city which was a fraction of the size of New York, Clary knew finding them would be close to impossible. Nobody at the party had known who they were either, it seemed. Clary just felt that they would be able to tell her why she felt sick all the time, why she could never remember anything. They seemed like people with answers, which was what Clary desired.

Clary wanted to deny it, but she felt an undeniable pull towards to blonde boy, an ache in her chest to see him again, be close to him. That feeling, more than any other, scared her and she tried to ignore it. What she also couldn't understand was how she could forget a face so beautiful. She was so lost in these thoughts, she jumped when the kettle began to whistle on the stove. She left the blanket on the couch behind her as she walked to the kitchen. She tore open the small paper sachet containing the tea, pulling the bag out with one hand while reaching for a mug in the cupboard above her. The bag was stubbornly remaining in it's bag, taking up Clary's attention while she blindly reached for a mug with her right hand. Out of the corner of her eye, Clary saw a black mark on the back of her right hand. She pulled the hand back in front of her, her had clipping the cupboard door which caused her to lose her grip on her mug. A cacophonous sound was produced as it smashed to the floor, but Clary, barely flinched, transfixed by the eye-shaped tattoo on the back on her right hand that had not been there a second ago. She touched it cautiously, but it did not smudge. It was different than a typical tattoo, too, the black of the mark a true black, showing no signs of fading. Nor did it look brand new either.

A sudden inspiration came to Clary, the sort she hadn't felt for months. It was if someone had just dumped a buck of cold water on her, something coming to her mind with icy clarity. She had a tenuous hold on an image in her mind that she needed to get down on paper before it slipped away. Clary dashed upstairs, not even caring that she was trailing blood on the carpet from where the a mug shard had cut her foot. She couldn't feel the pain, even. Adrenaline coursed through her as she grabbed a box from the top shelf of her closet, where she'd shoved all of her old art supplies once she'd discovered that after the accident she no longer felt like drawing.

Surprising herself, Clary chose a long, thin piece of charcoal to use on the first sketchbook with an empty page she found. She only paused for a moment when she noticed that the design on her right hand had disappeared. Her hand seemed to move on it's own, drawing swirling lines in the same style of the one on her hand. The lines she drew all met in the middle of the page, weaving in an out of each other. Some lines where just little wisps, while others were large and bold. Despite her frantic movements, the lines came out sharp and crisp, the charcoal only smudging in the slightest.

Once she was finished, Clary held the drawing out in front of her as she sat cross legged in the middle of her bedroom, blood trickling down from the cut in her foot. She stared at it, and the symbol seemed to shout it's meaning at her.

Remember, it seemed to say.

It was like waking up from a dream.

She remembered everything.

It was as if her life in Vancouver had been a dream within a dream, that now she was in a world where there were angels, demons, vampires and werewolves. But she had surprisingly little doubt in her that her reality as she remembered it now was real - it was too vivid not to be. It fit in perfectly, those months she had supposedly been in a coma - it was during those months that she discovered she was a Shadowhunter.

The last night she had previously remembered spending with Simon, at Pandemonium, she could remember more of it - the girl and two boys who had killed the blue-haired boy, the ones that no one else but her could see.

It felt like she'd suddenly awoken after going to sleep after going to see Jace for the first time since she stabbed him through the heart with a sword at the Institute. It was normal, that she was a Shadowhunter, that Simon was a vampire.

How could I forget stabbing Jace through the heart with a sword? How could I forget Jace? she thought, and then it hit her like a train, the absence of Jace. It ebbed through her, a slow, steady ache.

He must be going crazy, trying to find me, Clary thought. Which led to other thoughts. Why were those memories being hidden from her for the past few months? What did the pills have to do with it? Was her mother just as clueless had she had been?

Clary thought back to her mother's overprotective behavior for the past few months, and with a sinking feeling in her stomach she knew that her mother had somehow been involved with this. She had taken Clary's memories away from her once - what was preventing her from doing it again.

The pieces of Clary's fake mundane life and her Shadowhunter life lined up quickly after that. Terror rolled through her when she thought back to the coffee shop - Sebastian knows I'm here. Why hasn't he taken me? Clary could not fathom why he'd let her be, as clueless and defenseless as she was. She might have panicked even more, if she hadn't recalled the previous night. Nobody but Jace would have burned down the world to dig her out of the ashes like her probably would have had to do to find her. She knew that once Jace had found her, he would not have strayed far from her. At least, she hoped, even after what she'd said to him last night. She wanted to hit herself for being so stupid, not remembering earlier.

Clary, who had been frozen in place while the thoughts raced through her head as she stared at the rune, reached over to her phone to dial a very familiar number, long distance be could see her Sight rune on the back of her hand, as well as the few permanent Marks she'd collected that swirled up her arm.

Of course her phone would be dead. Swearing, she plugged her phone into the charger. It would be at least ten minutes before she could use it. Still ignoring her bleeding foot, Clary ran downstairs back to the kitchen, carefully picking her way through the ceramic shards until she got to her knife block on the counter. She pulled each knife out. They weren't Seraph blades, but Clary would have to make do with them. She felt naked, without any daggers or a stele to defend herself with if Sebastian came for her. Which could be at any moment. Clary chose a long, thin boning knife and a short pairing knife to defend herself with, if it came to that. She slid the pairing knife into her bra - a little trick she'd learned from Isabelle and held the boning knife in her hand as she went back upstairs.

She could get answers to all of her questions later, the ones about her mother, her disappearance, Sebastian. What she needed now was to be safe, and she knew Sebastian was more than capable of snatching her away from here. She knew she would be safest with Jace, Alec, and Isabelle and whoever else they were working with to find her. There was no point is rushing out into the city to find them, either, if Sebastian was watching her, he would just know that something was wrong - Clary remembered seeing him in her courtyard Thursday night - it would be easy enough for him to have her townhouse watched constantly.

She wondered if Simon had come to look for her as well. His absence from the party last night unsettled her. Had something happened to Simon? He didn't have the Mark of Cain to protect him anymore, a thought that caused Clary's stomach to drop.

Questions later, Clary reminded herself, checking her phone to see if it was alive (it wasn't) before heading to her mother's bedroom. She knew it was going to be a long shot, but she had to at least look for her mother's stele. Clary didn't let go of the knife as she rifled through her's mother's drawers, but Clary could find anything of Nephilim origin.

Clary heard her phone beep from the other room. She sprinted to her room, picked up the phone off her desk with shaking hands. She dialed the familiar number, held the phone up to her ear.

"Damn it," she swore again when she realized she'd forgotten to add the '1' for a long distance call. She made the necessary correction and held the phone up again as it rang.

The phone rang twice before it was picked up.

"Hello?" Jace asked from the other end, his voice an immediate comfort to Clary. She felt less afraid, more sure of herself now that she had a way to talk to Jace.

"Hello?" Jace said again, impatient, raising his voice so loud it seemed to echo through the phone. Clary had been temporarily lost in the swell of emotions she was feeling, was suddenly ripped out of her reverie by the sudden improvement in call quality.

"It's Clary," she said, hoping those two words would be explanation enough. The line went dead. Through her open window, she heard the sound of a phone being flipped shut.

The door leading in from outside beside her swung open and Clary dropped her phone, whirled around, bending her knees and holding out her knife in anticipation of an attack. She was in full Shadowhunter mode, her senses inhuman. But the person before her made her breath catch, every thought racing through her head suddenly silenced.

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**I swear on the Angel I didn't intend to end things there, but unfortunately life has been crazy lately and this is all I had ready before I go on vacation. I really didn't intend for it to be so much of a monologue, but unfortunately this seemed like the best place to spilt the chapter in half. I promise it'll be pretty much nothing but character interaction for the next few chapters. School starts soon and things will get crazier from there, but I promise I won't abandon this story. Thanks for the lovely reviews, I appreciate them quite a bit. **


	8. Chapter 7

**A little short, but unfortunately writing consistently has been next to impossible lately. Obvious things aren't mine. x **

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Jace's eyes never left Clary's as he reached out to shut the door behind him. They stood, staring at each other for a length of time Clary couldn't begin to quantify. The rational calm she had possessed beforehand left her - she was frozen, unable to do anything but stare at Jace. She wasn't prepared to face him as herself. She didn't know what to say to him, what words could possibly do the situation justice after months of separation. She finally felt it now, the ache of missing Jace she should have been feeling for months, poured upon her all at once. But it wasn't like seeing him suddenly made the ache go away - having him there in front of her, his face as astonished as hers just made it that much worse. What was the worst was the look in his eyes - he wasn't looking at her like he used to. His hands were out in front of him, not to show Clary that he meant no harm, but in preparation to fend of an attack. With sudden horror, Clary realized she was still holding the knife. She dropped it. The muffled thud it made when it hit the carpet seemed much louder than it actually was, since neither of them had spoken a word yet.

Clary couldn't maintain eye contact any longer - a deep sense of shame welled up inside of her, a chorus of voices in her head reprimanding her for being so foolish, to think that everything was going to fall into place once she'd found Jace, how stupid she must have been to let herself be drugged for months upon end, for being weak and allowing three months of her life to be hidden from her. She hadn't fought enough, hadn't asked enough questions about New York - things were different now, not just for her.

Clary took Jace's appearance in for the first time. He wore jeans and a leather jacket, too light for the cold February weather outside. His blonde hair had grown out, looked more unkempt that tousled. His face was drawn, the circles under his eyes a dark purple. He looked much the same he had when he was being tormented by Lilith. Even more shame rooted itself in her.

"Clary."

It was barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to startle Clary out of her inspection. She took a step towards Jace, filled with an overwhelming urge to be closer to him, like that would fix everything. Her feet became entangled together at the first step and she hurtled forward, only to have strong, iratzed arms wrap themselves around her. Clary's head was pressed up against his chest - she could hear his heart, pounding just as quickly as hers was, and it wasn't just from the physical exertion. She was more than steady now, but Jace showed no sign of letting her go. She closed her eyes, and tried to think of anything to say to him, but coherent thought escaped her. He still smelled the same, she noted. Slowly, she moved to wrap her pinioned arms around him, shifting her body that was pressed against his.

Jace released her before she could wrap her arms around him, a puzzled expression on his face. He slipped one of his hands under her shirt, his hand stopping just below her bra. Clary breathed shakily, confused but too bewildered to say otherwise.

Jace took his hand back, in it the pairing knife Clary had stuck in her bra earlier.

"I never pegged you for being a helpless damsel, but what's with the kitchen knives hidden in your lingerie?" Jace asked, holding the knife up in front of Clary.

It was like all the tension between them had melted away, that Jace was back to his usual joking self - Clary saw the gleam within him, the masquerade he always had at the ready. Giggles suddenly burst out of Clary, then genuine laughter. It was the hardest she'd laughed since moving to Vancouver. Jace waited, a patient smile on his face until Clary had calmed down from her hysteria.

Then, she comprehended the seriousness of the answer of Jace's question.

"Sebastian," Clary said, the name explanation enough.

Jace frowned. "He's found you, too?"

"I don't know what he didn't take me while he had the chance - there's some reason why he didn't want to take me. Actually, I'm surprised he didn't kill me." It always astounded Clary, how she could talk about brushes with death so casually. Then again, she had nothing on Jace in terms of close encounters with death.

"Well, if he wanted you dead by now, you would be dead," Jace said, his tone grave. Something caught his eye, behind Clary's shoulder.

"There's bloody footprints all over your carpet as well," he observed.

Clary looked down at her foot and the pool of blood that surrounded it, suddenly aware of the searing pain that coursed through the injury.

"Ow," she said, taking her weight off of it, a move that would have sent her straight to the ground if Jace hadn't been there to catch her, again.

"You've lost a lot of blood," Jace said, setting Clary down on her bed and examining her foot.

"Do you have your stele? I can just put an iratze on it," Clary offered, but Jace was shaking his head before she even finished her sentence.

"Once we found you and realized what you'd - how you'd been affected, we talked to Brother Zachariah. Clary, someone's been messing with your head. We don't know what else they've messed with. Until we can get you to a Silent Brother, it's nothing but mundane treatment for you," Jace said, picking up one of Clary's dirty school shirts off the floor.

"Do you have any particular emotional attachment to this garment?" Jace asked.

"No, why?" Clary asked, just before Jace proceeded to rip a strip of cloth off the bottom.

Clary tried not to wince as Jace bound her foot tightly, blood immediately blooming from underneath the white cloth. She was more confused now than she was when she'd first remembered - this was Jace in front of her, no doubt, but it wasn't her Jace. There was something missing from him, although not in the same way that it was when he was under Sebastian's influence. He was being kind, but not tender. It just added to the overall shock that Clary was feeling. She still had a hard time believing that he was there in front of her, binding her foot in cloth.

"That should take care of it, for now," Jace said, getting up from where he had been kneeling on the floor, distancing himself from Clary. "Was there any sort of medicine or drink Jocelyn had you take? Weird objects she insisted you sleep with?" he asked.

"There were pills."

"Where?" Jace demanded, his impatient tone cutting through Clary.

"Downstairs, on the kitchen counter," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Jace headed towards the stairs, turning his head back for just a moment to make sure Clary was still there on her bed before heading downstairs. Clary wanted to tell him to watch out for the mug shards, but her voice was caught in her throat.

He reappeared just seconds later, not having made a sound downstairs, despite the mess that littered the floor. An outline of a bottle was obvious in his pocket.

"We're leaving," he said, slipping his arms underneath Clary and picking her up as if she weighed nothing at all.

"What about my mom?" Clary demanded. "Sebastian hates her, possibly even more than me, even after the whole thing with me destroying his apartment. What if he comes back for me and takes her instead?"

"We can figure that out later," Jace said, easily support Clary's weight with one arm while he opened the door to the courtyard with the other. His tone was dismissive - his mind was in another place.

"Put me down," Clary said, anger rising up in her. This wasn't the Jace she wanted right now. Things were supposed to be better now, but the situation had only slightly improved since the reappearance of Jace.

"Don't, Clary," Jace dismissed her again as they crossed the courtyard, his eyes scanning the windows above them for the wary eyes of Clary's neighbours.

"Jace, if you don't stop walking this instant I will scream, and everyone will hear me scream because I don't have a glamor on," Clary threatened, because she knew struggling was futile. She had given up on trying to lure her Jace out from this distant once - she was just angry now, angry at everything.

Jace stopped.

"What about Jocelyn, Jace?" Clary demanded.

"As soon as she returns, I'll make sure someone explains the situation to her, makes sure she's safe. But your mother is good at protecting herself, and even better at overprotecting you," Jace said, loathsome disregard blatant. Clary took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Okay," Clary said.

The two were silent as Jace helped Clary into the passenger side of a sleek black car, that seemed to be exactly the type that Clary imagined Jace would drive. She wondered where he got such a car, but decided trivial questions at this point were not going to be productive.

"Where are you taking me?" Clary asked after too many minutes of silence in the car - they had already passed all of the roads that she was familiar with. Clary had looked at him as he drove - his jaw was tense, his hands gripping the steering wheel with too much force - something was still obviously wrong, but Clary was too scared to ask what. She didn't know what she feared more - the manner in which she would receive an answer or the answer itself. It was like her Jace had been torn from her again, the exact same feeling she had on the night where Luke had been stabbed. She was too overwhelmed to feel angry anymore.

"The Vancouver Institute. It's nothing like the one in New York, of course, but we've been staying there while we've been looking for you."

"We? You, Alec Isabelle..." Clary trailed off.

"Just us. Simon's still in New York." Jace said, running an amber light, going much too fast in Saturday afternoon traffic.

Simon. Clary hadn't thought of him until now. How could she have forgotten her best friend? At least he wasn't dead, like her mundane self had thought.

"He's okay, by the way. Everyone is, besides going crazy looking for you and Jocelyn. Although Luke, I don't know if you could call him okay," he mused.

Jace's phone ringing cut him off.

"Are you sure you didn't mean to dial another number?" Jace said slyly.

Clary could just hear the offense in the tone of the other person.

"Let's be honest, Alec, the majority of the time when I call you, I get a busy signal because you're calling him."

Jace almost t-boned a minivan while making a left turn. Clary tried to surreptitiously buckle her seat belt.

"I swear, I'm going to smash your phone if you keep doing that," Jace said, turning sharply onto a side street. They were downtown now, in a grotto sort of neighbourhood, with tall, gray buildings that weren't majestic, just abandoned and sad-looking.

There was a contentious grunt, then some more words Clary couldn't make out.

"Yeah, I'm just outside. But I wouldn't be so fast to say that, if I were you," Jace said, hanging up the phone and pulling into a parking garage whose door rattled and clanked as it opened.

"This is the Institute?" Clary asked, confused.

"This is hallowed ground, believe it or not. There used to be a church here, but it burned down a long time ago and they built a hotel on top of it. Voila, perfect Institute, with the added bonus of underground parking." Jace explained, stopping the car in the middle of the parkade by the lone door, which made enough sense, since there were no other cars in the lot.

The door beside the car suddenly opened and Alec and Isabelle emerged, both in street-clothes. They, too, looked more tired than usual, but they were in better condition than Jace. Alec seemed to have reverted to his pre-Magnus just rolled out of bed style, wearing torn jeans and a faded black shirt. Both Lightwoods stopped in their tracks once they saw Clary sitting in the front seat.

"By the Angel, Jace, what have you done?" Isabelle said, storming over angrily to Jace, authoritative even without the high heels she usually wore. "You can't just kidnap her and expect her to magically remember everything," she said.

Clary opened the door and tried to get out herself, but Jace immediately raced over and lifted her out of the vehicle. Isabelle and Alec watched, transfixed.

"No," Isabelle whispered the word.

"Hi Izzy," Clary said, smiling.

"Clary!" Isabelle shrieked, running over to Clary and throwing her arms around her. Clary felt Jace's reluctance to let go of her as he tugged on her hand while she was being swathed in Isabelle's embrace. Clary slipped her hand out of his, hugging Isabelle just as fiercely in return. Isabelle really had become like a sister to her.

"I don't understand - how was the spell broken?" Alec asked while Clary was still being embraced by Isabelle. This seemed to catch Isabelle's attention as well.

"Yes. Clary, we watched you for a week, and there was no sign that you had any memory of us at all," Isabelle said, releasing her hold on Clary, who wobbled a bit. Her head felt light and her stomach churned.

"A whole week?" Clary tried to remember back a week, but all of her mundane memories seemed hazy and unfocused.

"We used glamors, at first. You saw right through us, just like any mundane would," Izzy said, the words clearly as hard for her to say as they were for Clary to hear.

Clary couldn't imagine it, walking up to someone you expected to see you, having them stare right through you...

"I am so sorry," Clary said.

"Don't, Clary, there was nothing you could have done," Alec said, and in a move that Clary would never have predicted, hugged her. Clary wrapped her arms around him and peeped over his shoulder, just in time to see the door swing shut behind Jace. Alec heard the noise of the door close and released Clary.

"I'll take care of this," he muttered to Izzy, going after Jace.

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**That's it for now, thanks for so many lovely reviews on last chapter, even though I was unapologetically cruel to you guys with that cliffhanger. Please keep them coming, I really do quite enjoy them. Next chapter is coming as soon as I find the time to write it. x **


	9. Chapter 8

**Thanks for sticking with me, lovelies! Obvious things aren't mine. x **

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If she hadn't seen him before, Clary surely would have screamed when she woke up and saw Brother Zachariah standing at the foot of her bed.

Good evening, Clarissa Morgenstern, a ghostly voice inside her head sounded. Clary subconsciously rubbed her temples at the invasion of Brother Zachariah's mind. No matter how many times she talked to him,it was still disorienting to have his voice just appear inside of her head.

Brother Zachariah, Clary acknowledged, staying inside of her mind as well.

After Jace had stormed out of the parking lot, Izzy had brought her to the infirmary, a room with large windows that overlooked a lush green garden, four beds lining each side of the room. Isabelle had settled Clary in one of the beds before going to get her some food, but Clary must have fallen asleep before she'd returned. Someone had thrown a blanket over her. From her stiff neck, Clary knew she'd been sleeping for a while - no light shone through the drawn curtains either - Clary had slept through the rest of the day. For a moment upon awakening, Clary had hoped that it had all been a dream, that she'd never been fooled into going back and living a mundane life, but the foreign room and Brother Zachariah at the foot of her bed had brought an end to that hope before it had even begun. Izzy was seated on one of the beds beside Clary, dressed in gear with her hair in a braid and whip tightly coiled by her side.

From what Isabelle Lightwood has told me, you had no recollection of being one of the Nephilim until earlier this day, correct?

"Yes," Clary said, out loud for the benefit of Isabelle. "I stopped taking the pills and eventually my memories came back."

A little more detail, if you would, Brother Zachariah prompted.

"Oh, of course," Clary said, carefully raising herself to a seated position, leaning up on the pillows behind her. "I saw the Clairvoyance rune out of the corner of my eye, and I had a sudden inspiration to draw something-"

Your talent was previously dormant?

"Yes, when I thought I was a mundane - I didn't sketch, I just couldn't. I was like it had been turned off," Clary paused and waited for Brother Zachariah to comment, but the hooded face just continued to stare at her expectantly. Izzy was perched at the edge of the bed, eagerly awaiting Clary's words. She didn't know what happened at Clary's before she called Jace - nobody did. The thought struck Clary is an odd way "I went to my room and I drew the Remembrance rune - one look at it and I remembered everything, about being a Shadowhunter, what happened during those three months that I thought I was in a coma. I tried to call Jace, but my phone was dead. While it was charging I went through my mother's room, looking for a stele. Before I could find one, my phone was done charging - I called Jace and he brought me here."

Jonathan Herondale also retrieved the pills your mother had you take. They were demonic in origin-

Clary gasped, shaking her head. "No, my mother would never-"

If you would allow me to investigate your mind, I can confirm the purpose of the pills. Be warned-

"It's unpleasant, I know," Clary said, recalling the times that the Silent Brothers had rifled through her head.

Clary squeezed her eyes shut as Brother Zachariah's subconsciousness pushed up against her own. She tried to relax and let him into her head, but it took every ounce of control she had not to push the invasion out as hard as she could. Clary found that she couldn't even breathe. Thankfully, he was quick with his inspection and Clary slumped against the pillows, a slight sheen of sweat on her forehead.

There was a spell put on you, similar to the one Magnus Bane used to hide the Shadow World from you - but not as finely constructed, and requiring a lot more energy. The spell was so powerful, it would have killed you if it were allowed to feed off of your energy. It fed off of the demonic elements in the capsules you took, although the capsules made you feel quite ill, correct?

Clary nodded her head.

It is fortunate you stopped when you did - when Nephilim are exposed to demon poisons for long periods of time, even in such a diluted form, sometimes they become dependent upon them. Now, we must talk about Jocelyn.

"Please, don't punish her. She wanted to protect me," Clary said. As furious as she was with her mother, she never wanted to put her mother at the mercy of the Clave.

So be it. Although she has broken the law, if you wish that she be spared she will be. It seems that only the spell that affected your memory remains, although it is too weak to repress your memories - there is nothing else out of the ordinary in your consciousness. The spell will diminish quickly with the absence of the demon poison. It is safe for you to put runes on your body and what not. But just as a precaution - Miss Lightwood, could you please use an Iratze to heal the wound on her foot. The runes my brotherhood draws are often much more potent than any drawn by ordinary Shadowhunters, he explained as Izzy quickly sketched the iratze onto Clary's foot. It was itchy and uncomfortable for a moment, but soon that and the pain was gone - Clary's foot felt fine again.

Your shoulder, please, Brother Zachariah asked.

Clary turned and tried not to shiver when Brother Zachariah's hands pushed the strap of her tank top out of the way, sketching a rune onto her skin, Clary waited patiently as the stele burned against her skin.

Rest your mind for the next three days, then you will be fully recovered. The thought echoed in Clary's head, then she felt the link their mind had shared sever.

"Thank you," Clary said when she could no longer feel the stele against her skin, but he was already gone.

"I hate how they disappear like that," Izzy remarked, leaning over to admire the rune on Clary's shoulder. "Remembrance, of course. I've never seen it drawn so big. Interesting," she said, running her fingers over the marks.

But Clary was now facing the opposite side of the room - there was a figure sitting in a chair by the door. Jace had been there the whole time, hadn't said a word. Clary's stomach was in knots at the realization. Why hadn't he come? Jace was usually bursting with questions, especially when it came to the Silent Brothers.

She tore her eyes away from him and faced Isabelle, pulling the strap of her tank top back over her shoulder.

"Now what?" Clary asked Izzy, a huge weight off her chest now that she knew she was going to be okay - now she only had silly things to worry about, like her sadistic brother, mother who loved to mess with her memories her worried-sick best friend and boyfriend who didn't seem to be happy to see her at a;;. Clary was getting a headache just thinking about it all.

"Well-" Izzy started.

"We're going to lay low - just for a couple of days," Jace announced, getting up out of the chair in the corner and striding over to Clary's bedside. Clary tried to catch his eye, but he stared right past her.

"We don't know if Sebastian was merely curious or if he was planning on taking you from me - either way, things will be best if he can't find you" he said.

"What about when we go back to New York? Wait - What's happened with Sebastian while I've been-" Clary struggled for the words.

"Nothing, surprisingly. Aside from a rather grizzly warning, he seems to be biding his time. The Clave thinks the delay has something to do with your disappearance," Izzy said.

"But now that I'm back..." Clary said.

"Sebastian will probably let loose whatever army of evil he's amassed for himself. I mean, what's the fun in burning down the world if your sister can't burn along with it?" Jace snapped, obviously growing impatient as he started to pace. Clary hadn't seen him smile yet.

"The guardians of the Institute here have graciously offered us access to a summer home of sorts, in the interior. We'll stay there while Isabelle and Alec figure out a way to get us home," Jace explained.

"Why can't I just portal us back? " Clary asked, confused. Why did everything have to be so complicated? She just wanted to go home to New York, to see Simon and Luke.

"Because, once Sebastian finds out you've returned to your senses, New York is going to be the next place that he looks. What Brother Zachariah didn't say while you were up is that there could possibly be a dormant spell placed on you by Sebastian or Jocelyn that's activated once you go through a portal. We just don't know." Izzy shrugged, apologetic.

"And we can't just fly across the country like all mundanes do?" Clary countered.

"Unfortunately, Idris doesn't issue passports. Trust your mother to turn this into an international affair," Jace said.

"But its Canada," Clary said, exasperated.

"Clary, there's other reasons, too. You may not have noticed, but you're a few pounds away from skins and bones. Once you're back in New York, Sebastian could start a war there or in Idris, any day. He must have been up to something these past few months - it seems like you were a key factor in it all, and now that you're normal, he'll want you. You need time to regain your strength," Isabelle persisted, pulling blankets around Clary's shoulders - she was shivering, but she was always cold, so she hadn't noticed.

"How do you know so much about what Sebastian's up to?" Clary asked, doubtful.

"Just because Sebastian didn't tell me what he was planning after creating the Infernal Cup, doesn't mean I can't predict what he's going to do. If his plan had had nothing to do with you, he wouldn't have waited. He's giving the Nephilim time to prepare, something he'd rather not do. So if hiding you in a cabin gives us a couple more days to prepare, we're going to do it," Jace said, his voice deadpan as he explained. He still stood stiffly by Clary's bedside, his hand clenched a little too tightly on the bedframe, Marks taut against his skin.

Clary knew she wasn't going to get anywhere in trying to convince Jace and Isabelle to take her back to New York - the two most stubborn people she knew asides from her mother and herself.

"Isabelle, you'll talk to my mother when she gets back?" Clary said, resigned.

"Yeah, Jace told me about your deal. Alec and I should be able to handle her," Izzy said, picking up a black duffel bag at the end of the bed. "Let's go," she said, hovering over Clary as she stood up on her own. Jace was already halfway out the door.

It sure seems like it's going to be more than just a couple of days, Clary thought as Izzy put a big black bag of 'stuff' that Clary would need for her trip. Clary wondered where Isabelle had gotten her clothes and other things, but Clary was too tired to ask. Once she'd gotten into a different car than people - a black SUV- she barely had time to wave goodbye to Isabelle before Jace roared out of the parking lot.

The clock on the dashboard read 2 am as Jace sped through the abandoned streets of the city. While they were still downtown they saw a few of the most dedicated revelers slowly walking back to their homes on Sunday morning, but soon they crossed into the uniform houses of the suburbs. They still passed cars, occasionally, but as the lights around them got fewer and fewer so did the number of cars they passed.

There radio wasn't on, and Jace obviously wasn't in a talking mood, and Clary couldn't work up the anger to ask him what the hell was wrong so she stared out the window. He had relaxed a little, but it felt like there was a glass wall between them, that Jace was trying to push Clary away from him for whatever reason, which was a hard thing to do when you're in a car with someone. Clary felt like he was impossibly far away from her. When they were well past any houses, a idea suddenly struck Clary. She checked her pockets, but realized with a groan that she'd probably left her phone at her house in Vancouver.

"Can I use your phone to call Simon?" Clary asked, expecting some witty response.

"Sure, but you can't tell him what you're doing or where you're going," Jace said, digging the phone out of his pocket and holding it out to her.

"That's helpful," Clary said, reaching to grab the phone from Jace's hand, but he quickly lifted it away, out of her reach.

"Really, you can't. He'll just be in danger if he knows where you are. Even Alec and Isabelle don't know exactly where we're headed."

"I won't," Clary said, reaching for the phone again. This time Jace relented. Their hands brushed as Clary took the phone - there it was - Clary wasn't sure if it was the heavenly fire that still burned within him or if it was just him being Jace, but either way her face flushed and her heart beat a little faster. She'd overlooked the fact that Jace seemed to have no problem touching her now - he must have done something about the Heavenly Fire inside of him. Clary wanted to whack herself again, for forgetting things like that. She knew she had several hours ahead of her with nothing to do but talk to Jace.

As Clary was dialing, Jace said "You know, it is 6 am in New York."

"Simon has the rest of eternity to catch up on a little missed sleep," Clary said as the phone rang. Simon picked up on the first ring.

"Jace, where is she?" Simon said, right away.

"'She' is speaking," Clary said. A smile broke out on her face.

"Clary, shit Clary I-"

"I know Simon, it's good to talk to you too," Clary said and it was like a huge weight was lifted off her chest. With a start, she remembered she had thought Simon was dead when she'd been under the spell.

"Are you okay? When are you coming back to New York? Izzy just told me they'd found you that's all she would say."

"Yeah, I'm okay, but I've been better. I can't tell you what's happening right now - I just wanted to call and hear your voice," she said, her voice choked with tears.

"Why are you crying?" Simon asked, voice gentle on the other line.

"I-I just thought you were dead for a few months up until thirteen hours ago. Long story," Clary said.

"I'm longer lasting than an everlasting Gobstopper, Clary. But come home soon, okay?" Simon said. Clary hated to end their conversation so quickly, but there really wasn't much more she could say. And Jace had a very valid point - the less he knew, the better.

"I will Simon, promise," Clary said. The line went dead. Jace held out his hand, and Clary carefully placed it there, careful not to touch his skin.

"So, I noticed your whole glowing situation has calmed down," Clary said. She couldn't believe how awkward she was being. She was still just as in love with Jace as she had been three months ago, but obviously something had changed for him in the past three months.

"I've learned to control it - it was a good distraction. It's faded, as well," Jace said to her, like he was talking about the weather, but in a way that just wasn't Jace. How was Clary going to survive being in a cabin with him for who knew how many days? She thought of the last time they'd stayed together, in Venice, Prague and Paris... unless Jace stopped treating this like babysitting duty, she knew it was going to be nothing like then. The absence of her psychopathic brother was also important to note. Nonetheless, Clary was anxious about the upcoming days. Three days alone with a Jace who seemed to want nothing to do with her.

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**I promise it won't be an angst fest for much longer, just stick with me! Try my best to update as quickly as possible, but school is doing a pretty good job of getting in the way. Thanks for the reviews, I appreciate them quite a bit. x **


	10. Chapter 9

**So this is a chapter I've been wanting to write since the beginning of this thing, so you guys get a quick update. Obvious things aren't mine. **

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Depending on how you looked at it, things between Jace and Clary were a little better than they had been during that first night. Clary didn't think Jace was angry at her anymore - in fact, he was treating her with more courtesy than he ever had before, but it was like Clary was a bomb that would go off at the slightest disturbance. Jace treated her gently, tip toed around her in every possible situation. Clary had grudgingly accepted that for now, that was how things were going to remain, deciding not to push Jace, to see how far she could go before she could snap him out of this calm, reserved demeanor he was putting on around her. It wasn't just emotional distance he was ardently putting between them; it was physical, too.

They were staying at some sort of training facility, with six beds all neatly lined up together in the same narrow room, plus another room off to the side with a double bed and it's own bathroom. Jace had insisted that Clary take the room with the larger bed for herself. It was those sorts of things that made Clary feel like she was being pushed away. How Jace would barely look at her while they ate lunch, but when he thought she wasn't looking Clary had caught him staring at her multiple times, with the hunger in his eyes that Clary had once seen in them all the time. She was so frustrated, couldn't fathom what was going through his mind. But something in her, an uneasiness inside of her, rooted in those months where her memories were hidden from her, stopped her from asking what his problem was.

There was a small kitchen and living room in the cabin as well. It was definitely quite old and scarcely used, from the layer of dust that had coated everything when they had first arrived. There was another building on the property, which Clary had snuck off to see while Jace was in the shower than morning. It was one large room, with a chest in the corner, in which Clary discovered a small stash of Seraph blades and steles. Clary took one of each for herself, stashing them both underneath her mattress. They weren't to use against Jace, of course, but Sebastian was a nagging itch in the back of her mind. She tried to tell herself again and again that there was no way he could find her here, in the middle of the woods, but she had witnessed him accomplishing things that had seemed even more impossible.

Jace seemed to have the same line of thought as her in that respect - she hadn't seen him sleep since they'd arrived at the cabin after driving through the night. She wasn't sure if the thought of Sebastian compelled him to stay awake through the nights, or if he was scared that Clary would somehow slip through his grasp again. Because, as much as he distanced himself from Clary, the way that he gave her space, yet always seemed to hover in the next room, was telling of how much damage had been done during her absence. He was apologetic, he was meek, he was not Jace. Clary didn't know how much longer she could take it - the only thing holding her back from screaming was guilt, more guilt than she'd ever experienced, for allowing herself to be taken away from him.

They'd spent the previous day doing nothing. Clary had sat and stared out the window for a few hours, entranced by the snow that was gently falling upon the forest outside. Normally she would never have the patience for that sort of thing, but she had a lot to think about, the consequences of what had just happened what was going to happen now. She'd cooked all the meals, although most of the food that they had brought along was along the lines of instant stove top food. Jace had sat in the armchair on the other side of the room for hours, motionless except for when he turned the page.

The current day had been as equally and monotonous, but Isabelle had had the grace to pack a sketchbook and some pencils in Clary's bag. They weren't proper sketching pencils or anything, but they worked well enough as Clary sketched the world outside. Who she really wanted to sketch was Jace, but her feelings about him were too muddled for that.

When the light outside became too dim for Clary to properly make out the shapes of the trees, she closed her sketchpad and got up from her perch on the couch, stretching. She was comfortable in a pair of loose sweatpants and a t-shirt that had obviously been Isabelle's, but they fit her quite well, considering the height difference.

"I'm going to make dinner," Clary announced, looking at Jace who was curled in an armchair, reading a book.

"Okay, thank you," Jace said flatly, not even looking up from the pages of the book.

In the kitchen, Clary made more noise than was strictly necessarily with the pots and pans while she cooked up a package of macaroni and cheese.

Dinner was a silent affair as well. Under the dim lightbulb that was strung over the table, Jace looked more tired than ever. He looked nearly as bad as he had while he was under Lilith's influence, considerably worse than when he had awoken after Clary had stabbed him through the heart. But there was still a glimmer in those golden eyes of his, not matter how much he pointedly averted his gaze from Clary's.

The macaroni and cheese was undercooked, but Jace made no mention of it, no witty comment on how being both raised a mundane and a girl should have ensured that she could cook. But Jace just sat there across and slightly to the left of Clary, staring into the macaroni, which was so obnoxiously orange she wondered if they used the same dye for traffic cones.

This should have been an intimate, fun time with Jace, a chance for them to have a proper reunion, finally respite from the chaos of the world around them before the war begun. This was the calm before the storm, and they were just sitting there, saying nothing while eating shitty food. They were the most boring couple on Earth, if they were even still a couple. The thoughts whirled like a hurricane in Clary's head throughout the meal. She gripped her fork tighter and tighter.

"Could you pass me a napkin, please?" Jace asked, like everything was fine, like everything was normal, like it wasn't strange and wrong. Clary couldn't take it.

Without a word, she hurled her empty plate at the wall behind Jace, directly above his head. She looked on, satisfied, as the plate smashed against the wall. Jace stared at her, his mouth agape. Clary whirled away and stormed off to her room with a smug smile on her face - at least she'd gotten him to show some form of emotion, even though it came at the cost of a rather lovely plate.

Although it was way too early, Clary didn't foresee herself venturing out of her room for the rest of the night so she got ready for bed. She heard Jace cleaning up in the other room. Of course he wasn't going to come and see if she was alright, he was set on being an emotionless robot set on giving her 'space' when all she wanted was for him to hold her tight, like he had when she'd first seen him in her bedroom.

Once Clary heard the water being let out of the sink, she strained to hear what was happening outside, but the rest of the cabin had gone silent. Clary felt her eyes begin to grow heavy - she was still exhausted from the past few days. She could deal with Jace in the morning.

When Clary woke up, she was shivering. Tremors wracked her body - the thick blanket on top of her just seemed like a block of ice. From the dim light that came in from underneath her door, Clary swore she could see her breath. The wind was howling outside - and Clary felt little gusts swoop through her room. Clary was already wearing sweatpants and a sweater underneath the covers.

An idea came to Clary then, so irresistible she knew she had to do it.

"Jace," she called out. Almost immediately her door swung open and Jace was there, wearing nothing but a pair of loose pants, his hair tousled beyond belief. The black Marks on his skin stood out - Clary spotted a couple of permanent ones that hadn't been before, and others that she knew weren't permanent - so he was just as scared as she was of Sebastian coming back.

"Yeah, Clary?" he said. His brow was furrowed - he was worried why she would be calling for him, especially after her outburst.

"I'm freezing," she said, making no attempt to hide her shivering.

"I'll get you some more blankets," Jace said, already turning around to fetch them.

"No," she said, a little more forcefully than she'd intended. Jace slowly resumed his position by the door, confused.

"Do you want some tea, then?" he offered, hesitant. His golden eyes bore into her, concerned.

"No," she said again, adamant.

"Well, I'm not a Silent Brother that can read your thoughts, Clary. What do you want?" he asked. There he was, that sarcastic, witty boy that she loved. Just there, under the surface. If only she could get to him.

"You."

She looked away from him when she said it, scared to see what his reaction would be. She got the courage to look up at him after a few moments of silence. His facial expression was much the same that it had been when she had thrown the plate at him. Tears sprung up in the corners of her eyes as the silence continued.

"I-I don't know why you're acting like this," she said, her voice breaking. "Well, I guess I do - those months were so much more horrible for you than they were for me. I know you're probably mad that I forgot about you, but I remember you now, isn't that enough?"

Jace was still standing at the door, his expression now impossible to read. Clary's heart sank.

"I understand if you don't feel the same as you did before - I was gone for a long time," she said, sobs threatening to overwhelm her. "And now you're stuck taking care of me, when you'd probably rather be off preparing to fight Sebastian. I'll be fine with a blanket, really," she said, wanting to crawl into her blankets and never reappear. She gazed at her hands, hoping that Jace would just go and get the blanket and leave her alone in her humiliation. Her trembling was not partially because of the cold and partially because of the effort it took to rein in her sobs.

Instead, she saw his feet appear by the edge of her bed, out of the corner of her eye. He sat on the edge of the bed, close to her.

"I'm staying here, with you, and you're going to have to do a lot worse than unnecessary plate-smashing to scare me off," Jace said his voice low and husky but warm.

"I don't un-understand," she hiccuped, still not daring to look at his face.

"I wanted to give you time, to readjust to being a Shadowhunter and all of your other memories. I didn't want to overwhelm you with the complexities of our relationship right away. Clary, you don't know how hard it's been, not touching to you, talking to you - I didn't know what to say to you, I didn't want to freak you out," he confessed. Clary couldn't believe the words she was hearing. He heart raced as Jace carefully pulled one of her hands out of her lap to cradle it in two of his.

"There's a lot I've had to adjust to since becoming a part of this world," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "But the one thing that I've never had to adjust to is being in love with you. When I first saw you, after remembering, I felt the same way that I did on the steps of the Accords Hall, the way I did that night in Paris when you were yourself," she said and gazed into his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Clary, I've been so stupid, I should've just asked how you remembered," he said.

"Yeah, you should've just asked, you idiot."

Jace laughed and intertwined his fingers with hers. He used his other hand to gently wipe her tears away.

"I have to admit, I was angry at first, when I first brought you back to the Institute in Vancouver. I thought you'd willingly returned to a mundane life, and there was the matter of the letter your mother addressed to me, pretending to be you," Jace said.

"She didn't," Clary gasped.

"She did," he said, "and I was stupid enough to believe it, at first. But I read it over and over and I became convinced that you hadn't written it, that maybe Sebastian had, so I wouldn't try to find you."

Clary wanted to be sick as she imagined it, Jace still in the infirmary and recovering when he received a letter from Clary, breaking up with him.

"Do you still have it?" she asked. Her gaze was still averted from his.

"Yes," he admitted.

"I want to read it," Clary said, anger rising up inside of her. Why did her mother always have to meddle with everything?

"Later, I promise," he said as a particularly violent set of tremors overtook Clary. She'd forgotten how cold she'd been.

"By the Angel, Clary, you're freezing. Still want that blanket?" Jace said. Clary looked up to see that all too familiar grin on his face. His eyes shone golden and elated.

"Shut up," she said, tugging on his hand and scooching over to make room for him. He clambered under the covers, wrapping his arms around her shaking body.

"You know, you'd probably warm up faster if you took your sweater off," he whispered in her ear, his breath tickling her neck. She rolled her eyes at the lack of subtlety, but pulled off her sweater anyways, revealing the tank top she wore underneath. When she pressed back into his arms, the warmth of his chest was like fire against her back. She felt more secure and safe than she had in months and months, not since those weeks after her father's death, before Jace had begun to show signs of Lilith's possession had she felt so safe.

Jace's finger traced invisible patterns on the exposed skin between Clary's top and pants as she waited for her shivering to stop. She expected to nod off to sleep as well, but the sensation never came. As nice as this was, she wanted more. She wiggled around so that she was facing Jace, who looked down at her curiously, just as awake as she was. She could feel his heart beating against her chest. She was deliciously warm as well, the shivering finally coming to an end. She could feel the anticipation on her lips.

One light tug on his arm was all it took to pull Jace on top of her. His weight was firm on top of her, but he supported himself so that he wouldn't crush her. He leaned down towards her, stopping just an inch from her lips.

"I love you," Jace whispered. Clary arched up and kissed him in reply, weaving her fingers through his hair like she'd been dying to do for months. His arms around her remained where there were initially as their kisses were, at first, hesitant. But soon their kisses deepened and Jace flipped them over, one hand wandering down to Clary's hip as the other entangled in her hair. Clary was acutely aware of the way their bodies were pressed together as she ran her hands over his chest. It was as if they were trying to catch up for all the time they'd missed, that they hadn't been able to breathe without each other, and now they could finally breathe again.

It was like Clary was trying to cram in those three months where she should have been there, into these moments as she pressed her lips against his neck, his cheek, his lips. For her, it felt like she'd only kissed him last a week ago, a particularly nasty dream in-between. Jace was holding her to him as if she would slip between his arms any moment, his lips frantic against hers while his hands slid up and down he waist, causing the tank top to ride up. Clary had no sense of time or how this was ever going to end, but she couldn't gather her thoughts long enough to worry about what would happen if they didn't stop.

For the first time since she'd remembered, Clary felt whole, like there wasn't still some huge part of her missing. Now that she and Jace were finally okay, everything else before her seemed much less intimidating, less frightening. She knew Jace was always going to be there.

His hands paused on her hips, just above the waistband of her pajama pants, for a few moments before they slowly slid downward. Clary pulled apart from Jace just long enough to kick off her pants, exposing the blue boyshorts she wore, before Jace flipped them again, his lean curves pressing against every one of Clary's. She felt the same reckless abandon that she had in Paris wanting nothing but as much of Jace as she could get. She wrapped her legs around his torso, pulling him closer and closer.

Jace was teasing her, dipping one finger just under her boyshorts, gliding around the smooth skin of her hip, groaning as she gently took his lower lip between her teeth. .

Clary pressed herself impossibly closer to him, when she felt some hard press against her, right _there_. She froze for a moment. Above her, Jace froze too, eyes snapping open to meet Clary's. They were not hooded with lust, as they had been earlier. they were bright, clear and questioning.

Jace began peppering kisses down Clary's neck, but it was a move meant to decrease, rather than increase. He was being very sweet, very gentle as he reach out behind him to unhook her legs from behind his back, unable to resist the temptation of running his hand up her thigh. It just made her want it more. But he was set on the deceleration of events, responding to her passionate kisses with light, teasing pecks. Any seriousness was gone, he just smiled as he unwound Clary, one light gesture at a time.

The rejection had been so gentle it hadn't stung Clary, but there was some deep ache inside of her - hurt or sexual frustration, she didn't know which, maybe a little bit of both.

"I love you so much, Clary, but not tonight," Jace whispered, his breathing still heavy and ragged, climbing off of her and rolling onto his back, while keeping one hand intertwined with hers.

It was just another reminder that he had done this before, and Clary hadn't. She put her head against his chest and hitched one of her legs over his and fell asleep listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

* * *

**Hi. tease. right here. guilty as charged. Thanks to those five or six lovelies who review every chapter, it really warms my heart. We're going to be wrapping things up here fairly soon, so let me know what you think while you still have the chance! **


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